


Sono Luminous

by Ginnybag



Series: Only Almost [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Family Feuds, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Revised history, Treize's father is a complete bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginnybag/pseuds/Ginnybag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...what is your name....?"</p>
<p>Is Zechs the boy in Treize's memories? The ghost of his past haunts the commander even as the demons of his present conspire to betray him</p>
<p>When Treize's father insists on dinner as a family, Zechs learns that his newest lover may be harbouring more than one secret - secrets which could see Zechs unmasked and betrayed and shot at dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Iriana's birthday in 2007!
> 
> As with 'Star', the time line of the pre-series events in Sanc is changed. The Fall took place later than it did in canon. Liberties have also been taken with family make-up, and the name 'Zechs' has a very specific origin.

Zechs shot his companion a concerned look as he walked down the corridor beside him, the hundredth such glance he’d given the older man over the last two days. As they had the other times, worried questions rose to his lips, pushing him to ask, ‘Are you all right?’, ‘Are you ill?’ or perhaps even, ‘Something’s troubling you. Would you like to talk about it?’ But, like every prior occurrence so far, the words died before he could give them life.

Cursing himself for his cowardice, Zechs sighed noisily and turned his head to stare down the corridor in front of them. Given everything that had happened between himself and his commander on their way to this conference, making such a simple, polite enquiry should have been easy. Surely there was a rule somewhere in one of those books of etiquette Zechs had been drilled in all his life about being able to ask someone personal questions after you’d gone down on them?

That thought, so delightfully out of character as it was, made him chuckle softly and garnered him a sharp look from the man next to him.

“Is something amusing?” Treize asked, his voice tight.

Zechs took a couple of longer steps, pivoting on one heel to put himself in front of the older man as they drew to halt in front of the lift. “Nothing much,” he answered casually, then took a deep breath. “Sir – Treize – is something wrong? You’ve seemed… out of sorts…since we got here? Have I done…?”

“I’m fine,” Treize answered him shortly, interrupting him.

“You don’t look fine and you certainly aren’t acting like it. If this is about what happened on the train…?”

“Zechs!” Treize snapped, his eyes widening in alarm. “Good God, have you no sense? Not here!”

Zechs folded his arms across the breast of his scarlet jacket and levelled a look at Treize from over the sunglasses he was, as always, wearing. “Credit me with a little intelligence, please, sir. I wasn’t going to say anything I shouldn’t.”

“You don’t think the whole topic counts?” Treize demanded. “We’re about to go into a meeting with all of the Alliance Command, most of Romefeller and half of Earth’s aristocracy, and you think it’s an appropriate time to be discussing our sex lives?”

“I wasn’t going to….” Zechs cut himself off mid-sentence and sighed noisily, feeling irritation rise. “And you wonder why I’m asking if you’re all right,” he muttered under his breath, giving in, for once, to the very adolescent frustration he was feeling.

Treize shot Zechs a chilling glare, making it clear he had heard the pilot’s comment, and reached past him to press the call button on the lift. “Would you care to explain what you meant by that?” he asked.

Zechs shrugged. “*I* didn’t say anything that could have been incriminating, *you* did. ‘What happened on the train…’ could mean just about anything taken out of context. You introduced the topic of our personal lives.” He took a deep breath and let his annoyance drain away in favour of the worry he’d started the morning with. “Four days ago you were drawing conclusions from single sentences, now you’re making mistakes like that. Do you blame me for being concerned?”

Treize went still for a moment and then shut his eyes. “No. I’m sorry,” he added softly. “I’m… not at my best, I know. It’s not your fault.”

Zechs shrugged again, turning and getting in the lift as the doors opened, putting a hand out to hold them for his commander. “Are you sure about that?” he asked softly. “Nothing’s changed, so far as I know, except what happened. If you’re regretting…”

“No!” Treize exclaimed, then swallowed. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Zechs scowled but shook his head, seeming to let the topic go. He glanced at the indicator on the lift’s control panel, cringing a little from the fake wood patina the hotel had chosen to use for it, and then turned around and put one gloved hand on Treize’s royal blue sleeve.

The older man looked down at it in surprise and glanced up to see the pilot looking at him earnestly.

“Would you see a doctor for me?” the blond asked softly.

Treize let his surprise show on his face. “What? Why on earth do you want me to see a doctor?”

“I just… think you should. I’m sure the hotel has access to one if they need it. I could get the concierge to call and make you an appointment and we could go this evening. No one else would know.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Treize agreed, “but why? Do you think I’m ill?”

The younger officer shifted his weight from one booted foot to another uneasily and faint colour touched the lines of his cheekbones. “To be honest, yes, I do. You don’t look well, you haven’t eaten much and you are, by your own admission, ‘not at your best.’ He glanced up into Treize’s eyes and then away again just as swiftly. “This morning, too, I saw you taking something,” he confessed quietly. “Some sort of pill or other.”

Treize raised a curious eyebrow, covering surprise. “How do you know they weren’t simply painkillers or some such?”

“I don’t,” Zechs admitted. “I’m not asking you to explain what they were – it’s really none of my business – but I’ve seen you take what looked like the same thing a few times now. Either you’re in constant pain or there’s something else, and you really should see a doctor for both.” He tightened the grip of his hand and gave Treize the closest he could get to a pleading look. “Would you? I don’t want to know what they say – I won’t even go with you if you’d rather – but I’d be happier if….”

“Zechs.” Treize forestalled the flood of reassurance with a raised hand. “Thank you for your concern but it’s really unwarranted. I assure you I’m as healthy now as I was the day we met. Besides, I have a personal physician and the idea of allowing some stranger to poke and prod and pry at me doesn’t appeal.” He smiled warmly, the genuine affection in the expression overriding his pallor and the marks of strain in his face. “But I wouldn’t mind getting out of this hotel sometime this evening, so feel free to drag me out somewhere.”

Zechs smiled back, dropping his hand and turning away as the lift came to a stop. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied and then smoothed his face into military perfection as the doors opened.

 

******************

 

Treize stepped out of the lift into a wall of noise, Zechs one step behind and to the side of him as military protocol demanded, providing both an escort and silent support.

They were assailed almost immediately by questions from the people gathered in the lobby, polite enquiries and hot-tempered demands both, on every topic that was being debated during the conference – and quite a few that weren’t.

What Zechs had been told – and had believed, more fool him – was a simple ‘meeting’ had turned out to be nothing less than a full-scale UESA summit. There had been some clue to the truth of what they were heading into when Treize had started talking about the Romefeller Military Group during their train ride, but the full scope hadn’t dawned on the younger officer until the two men had reached the hotel the meeting was being held in.

The night of their arrival – a full 24 hours after their intended e.t.a – the two men had gone down to the hotel restaurant, intending to grab a quick dinner before retiring for the night.

What had been intended to be something of an ‘eat-and-run’ had turned into a three-hour ordeal; five full courses, followed by cheese and coffee and then by drinks in one of the lounges as delegates from dozens of different factions pounced on Treize – high from their first day of debating – eager to ‘catch them up’ with what they’d missed whilst the train was stuck in the snow.

Whilst they’d fielded opinions and enquiries, Treize had made a point of whispering pointers and names to the younger man under his breath, giving him a crash-course in politics and a virtual who’s-who of the Earth Sphere.

For a time during that evening, Zechs had wondered, again, why his commander had chosen the pilot as his companion for the duration rather then the politically-savvy Lady Une. She was familiar with all of these people and would have been of far more use.

Of course, Treize had no way to know it but Zechs had spent most of his life to date avoiding the very circle of people he was being forced to mingle with now. He *had* been given training in politics – quite extensive training at that – by his guardians, but that didn’t equate to knowing the ins and outs of the delegates the way Une would have and Treize did.

It had rapidly become clear, though, that Treize didn’t need any help. The man was more than adequate to handling all the more delicate machinations necessary, and really only needed Zechs along for company, for someone to talk to who wasn’t analysing his every word for meanings.

Having drawn that conclusion – that he was along more to keep Treize healthy and sane than for any other purpose – Zechs had stopped fretting about politics and had set himself to complete his intended task with a will.

It was more than a little disturbing that, less than three day into his mission, he was failing it so spectacularly. Far from fit and rested, Treize was becoming more and more tired, pale and withdrawn. His usually impeccable grasp of a situation and formidable intelligence was failing him at odd moments. It would have been a worry even if the older man had been nothing more than his commander but their shared encounters on the train had made them more than that, and a similar set of interests and abilities had helped them to forge the beginnings of what Zechs hoped would become a true friendship.

Treize finished giving some rather overweight colonel an answer to a question the man had fairly bellowed at them and turned on his heel, seeking a clear path through the room. Zechs moved with him, a scarlet-clad shadow, his eyes scanning the delegates and their aides for any potential threat.

He was so intent on his task that he’d slipped into following his commander by instinct rather than conscious choice and when Treize stopped suddenly, almost literally in mid-step, the younger man actually walked into him.

The force was enough to knock the senior officer a little but he didn’t seem to notice the jolt, anymore than he noticed Zechs’s hurriedly offered, “I’m sorry, sir!”

Zechs waited for Treize to acknowledge him – to wave away his apology or turn and level him a cutting glare – and frowned when he did nothing. The older man was staring at something on the far side of the room, half hidden behind the mass of bodies, his attention completely riveted.

“Sir?” Zechs enquired, puzzled and a little concerned.

When there was still no answer. Zechs stepped in front of his commander, ignoring the curious looks they were starting to receive, and deliberately broke his line of sight. “Treize?” he asked softly. “Is there something wrong?”

Treize seemed to look past his companion for a few seconds, and then he shivered all over briefly – for all the world as though he were shaking himself awake – and looked at Zechs levelly. “Remind me to schedule a meeting with General Catalonia for when we return to base,” he ordered, and his voice was icy. “I suddenly need to have a *word* with him.”

“Yes, sir,” Zechs agreed automatically, then frowned. “Did you see something…?” he began.

“Someone, not something.” Treize shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, just….Oh, damnit!” he hissed suddenly. “Zechs, can you see a way out of here?”

The cold scowl Treize had been wearing seemed to have disintegrated into something akin to panic, and it made Zechs raise an eyebrow in surprise as he began turning his head to look for the requested exit. “You really don’t want to speak to this person, do you?” he teased quietly. “Old flame?”

Treize’s little smile was tight and not at all amused. “I wish,” he hissed back. “Zechs, I need to get out of this room!”

“I’m working on it, sir,” the blond soothed, wondering who the hell had the ability to spook his commander like this.

Another glance at the crowd told Zechs it was hopeless to keep trying to make it to the door, and as Treize tensed unbearably next to him, the younger officer settled for what he thought was the best compromise he could make.

Moving with deliberate slowness, Zechs stepped between Treize and the approaching figure, actively shielding his commander’s form with his own as he’d been taught to do once over at the Academy. His right hand dropped to hover by his gun holster and his left came up, ready to physically ward off whomever it was if he had to.

“Zechs, don’t!” Treize whispered, sounding frantic, but it was all he had time for before the looming nobleman came clear of the last of the crowds and drew to a halt in front of them.

Zechs stared at the new arrival with a thrill of shock, resisting the urge to turn back and look at his commanding officer for confirmation through sheer force of will.

The angles of the man’s face weren’t quite right and his red hair – truly flame hued, instead of being touched with blond – was pulled back into a neat ponytail at his collar, rather than being clipped short. His eyes weren’t a match, either – piercing grey, not sapphire blue – and there was no doubt that he was altogether larger, taller and far more thickset, but there was still an uncanny resemblance between him and Treize.

The nobleman stopped a few paces away from the two younger men, sweeping his eyes over them slowly, weighing and judging them. “I wasn’t aware you were counted so very valuable, Treize,” he commented coolly, breaking almost a full minutes silence.

“I have my uses,” Treize replied, matching the older man’s tone perfectly – cool and slightly disinterested. “Can I help you with something?” he enquired politely and there was an edge to his voice that Zechs hadn’t ever heard before.

Their visitor gave them a slow smile. “Doroteo mentioned you would be here when I met him for dinner last month,” he answered, apparently by way of an explanation. “Since you haven’t been replying to my letters, I thought I would take the opportunity to see you.”

“I’ve been very busy for the past few months, I’m afraid,” Treize replied, after a pause. “I haven’t had time for personal correspondence. And I’m sorry,” he added smoothly, “but I’m rather tied up at the moment, as well. General Catalonia should have made it clear that I would be. I’m here for business on his orders, after all.”

The older man’s smile sharpened.” Of course you are,” he agreed, reasonably. “So am I. I don’t see why that would prevent us from meeting for dinner and… talking… one evening.”

Standing in front of his companion, Zechs was close enough to feel the shiver that ran through the slender body at those words. He frowned, and then tilted his head to look up at the noble. There was something about the man, despite his polite words and seemingly mild manner, that set every nerve in Zechs’s body to jangling warningly at him that this was not a person to be trusted. He didn’t need Treize’s reactions to prompt him to keep his commander away from their guest.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” he began, keeping any hint of his true feelings from his tone. “The lieutenant-colonel has an extremely full schedule over the next few days and simply won’t have time for any other engagements. Perhaps you could contact his secretary in Luxembourg after the Conference and make an appointment…?”

The last thing Zechs was expecting was for the nobleman to begin laughing softly. “Oh, dear, an appointment?” he chuckled. “Really? I’m sure he’s just as busy as you say, dear boy, but surely he can spare an hour or two to have dinner with his father?” The smile and the good-humoured laughter faded. “Given that we haven’t spoken in six months.”

Zechs shook his head automatically. “No, I really don’t think….” He trailed off to a halt as surprise registered. “I’m sorry?” he asked. “His *father*?”

Behind him, Treize took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s all right, Zechs,” he murmured, as the blond turned his head to look at him curiously. “Captain Marquise, may I introduce His Grace, Duke Benoît Khushrenada, my Lord Father,” he said, his voice utterly devoid of any expression. “Your Grace, Captain Zechs Marquise of the Alliance Special Forces.”

Zechs forced himself past his shock and bowed quickly. “It’s an honour to meet you, Your Grace,” he murmured politely.

“Likewise, I’m certain,” the Duke replied. He looked down at Zechs for a few moments, then put his head on one side and offered the younger man another empty little smile. “Tell me,” he said, “are you the one Doroteo calls the ‘Lightning Count’?”

Feeling himself blushing, Zechs tried to will away the reaction. “Yes, sir,” he admitted. “It’s a silly nickname the men gave me some months ago. It seems to be sticking, unfortunately.”

The Duke nodded slowly. “It would be interesting to talk to you as well, then. Shall we say eight in the restaurant? I’ll make the arrangements,” he insisted, and before either Treize or Zechs could reply, the man had nodded again and swept away.

“Fuck!” Treize cursed suddenly, his voice not much more than a whisper but heartfelt nevertheless. “What the hell was Catalonia thinking?!”

Zechs was confused, and not ashamed to show it. “Sir – Treize?” he started. “What…?”

“There’s a good reason my father and I haven’t spoken in six months, Zechs,” Treize interrupted, as though he knew what Zechs was going to ask before the younger man did himself. “A very good reason. I can’t believe Catalonia had a hand in this – I thought he knew better!” He shook his head, looking away for a moment, and then, as Zechs turned around to face him properly, he glanced down with haunted eyes. “Zechs, I need you to promise me something,” he whispered, his tone urgent. “This dinner tonight, you need to be careful. Don’t draw attention to yourself, please. No matter what my father says or does, you mustn’t make yourself a target.” Treize closed his eyes for a second. “He’s a shark, Zechs,” he continued. “A damned dangerous one. If you give him a way he can hurt you, he’ll use it ruthlessly.”

“Yes, sir….” Zechs agreed. “But… he’s your father! Surely…?”

“Yes, he’s my father. Unfortunately. All that means is that I know better than anyone what he’s capable of.” Treize reached out suddenly and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “Promise me,” he pleaded. “He is the last person on this Earth you want finding out your secrets.”

The intensity of the look in Treize’s eyes, the desperation in his voice, had Zechs nodding in agreement before he was even aware he was doing it. “I promise, sir,” he said firmly and was glad he had when Treize gave a relieved sigh and let him go.

A moment later, as the doors to the hall opened and the delegates were called inside, Zechs froze inside as all the implications of what Treize had said hit him. He stared at after his commander wildly as the man moved away, wanting nothing more than to ask the older man to explain, to demand to know what he’d meant by ‘secrets’, and knowing that he didn’t have the time.

 

 

 

***********************

 

Dinner that night was ugly.

Zechs watched his commander with narrowed, half-suspicious eyes as the older man paced their shared suite endlessly, wearing a line in the carpet and making the blond feel actively seasick from the backwards and forwards motion needed to watch him.

It was 7.30 pm and Zechs didn’t think Treize had sat down for more than the few seconds he’d needed to exchange his boots for his graceful black dress shoes.

Nor was the older man fully dressed yet.

Treize had informed Zechs that full Dress uniform was going to be needed for dinner almost the moment the two men had walked through the door to their rooms, right before he’d disappeared into the bathroom for three-quarters of an hour.

He’d re-emerged with no word of explanation and only his still damp hair letting Zechs know that his commander had spent at least part of the time washing. It made Zechs wonder, when he was under the shower himself, what Treize had been doing the rest of the time – he’d never seen anyone who could shower so fast.

Zechs had dressed after his shower, brushing out his hair and pulling it neatly back with a twist of velvet ribbon at his collar. He’d been stuffed into his Dress uniform for almost an hour now, sitting on his bed and waiting for the older man.

Treize had got as far as his undershirt, breeches, stockings and shoes and then simply… stopped and begun pacing.

Zechs sighed, shooting a nervous glance across the room at the small clock sitting on a table under the window. They were going to be late if they didn’t hurry and, given how on edge the older man had been about this dinner all day, Zechs didn’t imagine that could be a good thing.

He watched Treize pace for another moment, then shook his head. “Sir,” he said softly. “You need to dress.” There was no response – to Zechs, it looked as though Treize hadn’t even heard him. “Sir,” he tried again. “Treize!”

Sapphire eyes blinked, coming back to the here-and-now with a jolt as Treize’s head snapped around to look at his younger companion. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “What did you say?”

“I said, you need to dress. We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.”

The redhead turned his head again to see the clock, and then swore as he caught sight of the time. “Oh, Christ! That’s all he’d need, too….” He practically flew across the room, grabbed for his dress shirt and yanked it over his head.

Zechs followed him, moving at slightly more sedate pace and calmly held out the royal blue waistcoat as Treize reached for it. He moved to tighten the back of it as Treize did up the brass buttons, smoothing it carefully into place so that it wouldn’t wrinkle and show under the heavy jacket. He let his hands linger on the older man’s trim waist for a moment, then turned away and picked up his coat.

Treize didn’t seem to have noticed Zechs’s subtle flirting. He was tying his frothy lace cravat with hands that were shaking like he had palsy – or trying to. In the mirror he was standing in front of, Zechs could see that the older man wasn’t having much luck.

The blond quickly folded Treize’s jacket over his left arm and touched his commander lightly on the shoulder to turn him. “Let me do that,” he bade softly, nimble fingers making short work of it.

He twitched the soft fabric until it fell perfectly, then let his concern show in his face as he lifted one hand and laid it against the other man’s cheekbone lightly. “Treize,” he asked quietly, “what’s the matter?”

With the fingers that were still resting at the older man’s collar, Zechs felt the nervous swallow and the way Treize coughed slightly to clear his throat. “Nothing,” the senior officer replied.

“Are you sure? You seem….” Zechs let his words trail off and settled for shrugging to convey the sentiment he didn’t know how to phrase. Accusing Treize of panicking like a girl on her wedding night seemed unwise, but that was the only thing that described the utterly flustered state the older man was in.

Treize forced a weak smile. “I’m fine. May I have my jacket?”

Zechs unfolded it and shook it out, holding it up for the other officer. Treize stared at him blindly for a second and then turned, letting Zechs slip the coat on for him and step around him again to fasten it.

The blond reached for the supple leather belt next and, as he drew it into place and tightened it, he felt Treize gave a subtle shiver under his touch. As he had with the waistcoat, he let his hands linger, stroking a little with his fingertips, and saw the first touches of heat flare in midnight eyes, replacing some of the blind panic.

“Zechs….”

The pilot smiled kindly. “Hush a moment, please?” he murmured, then leaned in and kissed his commander carefully.

There was a moment’s resistance before the older man yielded, his posture relaxing fractionally under the younger officer’s hands.

The two of them remained that way for a time, their kiss staying gentle and warm, and then Treize made some small noise in the back of his throat and took a step back. He looked down at Zechs with eyes shadowed by something the blond couldn’t quite put a name to, reaching out with one hand to carefully brush a lock of Zechs’s untidy fringe back into place.

“Thank you,” Treize murmured, when Zechs blinked at the affectionate gesture. “My father and I…” He shook his head. “He’s a bastard, Zechs. Don’t let yourself forget that.” He shot another glance at the clock and turned on his heel. “Come on. Best to get this over with, I think.”

Zechs nodded, falling into step in a fashion that was very quickly becoming so much of a habit that it was familiar and comfortable.

 

************************

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

They reached the entrance to the restaurant with just a minute to spare of eight of the clock, and were shown straight to their table by the attentive staff.

Benoît Khushrenada was already seated on one side of the round table, facing the room and obviously waiting for them by the state of the half-empty wine glass in front of him. He came to his feet as they approached, smiling emptily, and gestured Treize to the seat next to him solicitously.

Zechs frowned as he realised that, given how the table was situated in a little alcove, Treize would be trapped in his seat unless either his father or Zechs moved for him, and that the older officer would neither be able to see, or be seen by, the rest of the diners. It made the junior pilot wonder if there was some security concern he wasn’t aware of – it was perfect protective placing, if that were the case – or if the older Khushrenada had some other, perhaps more sinister reason for wanting his son pinned in place and shielded from view.

In either case, though, there was nothing Zechs could do about it without creating an ugly scene, and so he sank into the third chair on Treize’s other side as gracefully as he could manage and nodded politely when the Duke asked if he would like a glass of the wine.

His first tip-off that the night was going to be unpleasant came when the Duke completely ignored Treize refusing the wine and asking for water, and poured his son a glass anyway. Zechs watched, trying to hide his surprise, as the older man then picked up his glass, offered a polite toast to “Your good health” and took a drink from his glass.

Zechs matched him, finding the wine tart and fruity to taste, and watched out of the corner of one eye as Treize lifted his own drink and put it to his mouth, barely wetting his lips with the ruby liquid.

What was the Duke up to? Treize didn’t drink – Zechs had learned that within twelve hours of getting on the train with him, when the older officer had refused the wine list at their first dinner, offering it across the table to Zechs with a demure smile and the apologetic comment, “Alcohol and I don’t agree.”

By offering a toast, though, the older man had put his son in a position where he had no choice but to at least sip the wine. Refusing a toast was… unthinkable.

“So, then, what have you been up to lately, my boy?” Benoît asked cheerily. “Doroteo has told me some things, of course, but I’ve heard nothing from you personally.”

Treize nodded, finding a smile as empty as his father’s had been. “I apologise for that, but as I told you earlier, I’ve simply not had the time. I was promoted back in November and since then….” He let his sentence trail off into an expressive shrug.

“Yes, I heard about the promotion. Doroteo made a point of calling and telling me directly. The fastest promotion in the history of the Specials, so he told me. I would have liked the chance to congratulate you.”

Treize immediately shook his head a little. “I didn’t imagine you’d be particularly interested,” he murmured. “In any case, I shan’t imagine it will stand as a record for very long. Not with the caliber of officers that Lake Victoria has been turning out this last year or so. Captain Marquise passed out with the highest marks on record – quite a bit above my own.”

Zechs tried not to blush under the scrutiny as the Duke promptly turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Is that so?” the man asked and Zechs hastened to shake his head.

“My final marks were two higher overall than Lieutenant-Colonel Khushrenada’s, it’s true, but there were courses where he scored far higher than I did.”

The Duke smiled. “I’m sure,” he agreed politely, then leaned in, “but if you finished with higher marks overall, doesn’t that also mean that there must have been courses where he scored considerably lower, as well?”

What was Zechs supposed to say to that? The man was right, of course, but…. “Ah…,” Zechs began, and was saved from having to answer when Treize snorted softly and shook his head.

“Of course it means that,” Treize told his father, “but I hardly hold that against the Captain. I merely count myself grateful to have such a capable soldier under my command.” He cast Zechs a warm smile. “I’m under no illusions as to which of us is the better pilot, Zechs, so you needn’t be bashful.”

Zechs returned the smile. “The better _pilot_ , perhaps,” he agreed, and left implication to do the rest. Both he and Treize knew there was far more to being a Specials Officer than raw piloting skill.

The Duke leaned back in his chair, watching the by-play between the two officers with apparent good humour. He reached for his wine glass again and lifted it. “To the two of you, then. It warms my civilian heart to know I have such wonderful soldiers to protect me from all those damned rebels.”

For a second time, Zechs drank his answer to the toast, watching carefully as Treize took another bare sip from his glass and wondering just what it was that made the older man so wary of it in the first place. Zechs had known a few people who had no head for alcohol, but even the worst of them had been able to stand a glass or so of wine – especially with food – before they were the worse for wear.

The charade hadn’t slipped past the Duke either it seemed – not if the way the man was scowling at his son was any indication. Given everything he had said about not giving his father ammunition, it made no sense for Treize to avoid the toasts even if he did have the worst tolerance for drink in the world. Surely it would be less harmful for him to get a little tipsy, than to annoy the man?

The waiter reappeared just at that moment, handing out menus and providing the perfect excuse for Treize to set his glass down.

All three of them having eaten in the restaurant on more than one occasion by now, they were familiar with the menu, and it was a matter of a few minutes work to place their orders.

As the waiter wandered away again, the Duke smiled at his son. “Well, that settles one thing,” the older man murmured. “This wine simply won’t go with anything any of us have ordered. Finish your drinks and I’ll get the wine list back and see if I can find something that will complement all three meals tolerably well.”

Zechs blinked at the instruction. He’d had training in wines and spirits, of course, but it was knowledge he very rarely used, tending to choose his drinks either because they sounded pleasant, when he was eating in company, or because they were cheap, when he was out with his friends and intending to get himself drunk.

Shrugging slightly, he downed the rest of his wine neatly and watched as Treize levelled a cool look at his father.

“You needn’t worry about matching my meal. I’m sure the glass I have will be fine.”

The Duke shook his head. “Nonsense. Why ruin a perfectly good meal with a bad wine? It’s not as though you’re currently on duty, after all, and I’m sure Captain Marquise won’t think any the less of you for having a drink with your father.”

“I have an early meeting tomorrow morning,” Treize tried and was cut off.

“Treize,” the older man said flatly, all traces of humour gone from his face. “Finish your drink.”

Zechs stared as father and son locked gazes for a moment, confused and uncomfortable and now absolutely certain that there was something going on that he didn’t understand. He bit his lip when Treize dropped his eyes after a moment and reached for his glass, surprised when the older officer drained it with a polished flourish and set it back down in the table in front of him neatly.

“Good boy,” the Duke praised immediately, for all the world as though he were talking to a child and not an adult officer. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Why you always have to make such a fuss about behaving in a civilised fashion, I don’t know.”

“You know full well why,” Treize countered softly but his tone of voice was so unsure and so apologetic that it was hardly a rebuttal at all.

Benoît ignored him completely, turning to face Zechs with a coaxing smile. “So, then, do you know anything about wines, Captain?”

Zechs blinked himself from his worried stare at his commander. “A little, Your Grace. It’s not often I drink, to be entirely honest.”

“This is a good opportunity for you to practice, then.” The Duke summoned the wine list and handed it over to the blond. “Why don’t you choose something for all of us to drink with our first course?”

Zechs swallowed slowly. “Ah… I’d rather not. I don’t know much about the subject, after all, and I really shouldn’t have more than I’ve had, in any case.”

The flash of fury that touched the nobleman’s features was staggering, making Zechs drop one hand below the table to touch his sword hilt for reassurance.

It was gone as soon as it had appeared, making the blond wonder whether he’d seen things.

“Well, why is that?” the Duke wondered. “As I said to Treize – you aren’t on duty.”

Zechs smiled politely. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am on duty. My orders were to keep the Lieutenant-Colonel safe, and I can’t do that if I’m drunk.”

“Very commendable, I’m sure,” Benoît replied, “but you don’t imagine he’s in any danger from his own father, do you?”

That was up for debate, as far as Zechs could tell, but he couldn’t say that out loud. “Of course not, sir,” he answered. “But you don’t answer for everyone else in the room.” He found a smile. “Besides, technically, any Specials officer is on duty anytime they are in full uniform.”

For a moment, the older Khushrenada looked rather stymied and Zechs thought he’d succeeded in his protest. Then the older man merely shook his head again with a laugh and reached out to take the wine list form Zechs’s hand. “Whatever has Doroteo got them teaching you boys?” he wondered, and placed a swift order for three glasses of a very nice sounding dry white.

He stood up as the waiter hurried away and excused himself.

Zechs waited until he was sure the older man was out of earshot and then turned to his commander. “Treize, what is going on?” he demanded.

Treize was still staring at the tablecloth. “Nothing I didn’t warn you about. Don’t draw attention to yourself for my sake, please. I’m well used to his little games.”

“Yes, but why is he playing them in the first place? Why is he insisting that you drink?”

The older officer shrugged tiredly. “I told you – alcohol and I are not a good combination. He knows that, so of course he wants me to drink. There are reasons I haven’t spoken to him in six months. Any weakness he can exploit, he does, and the older I get, the less of those there are. The alcohol is simply the one he knows will always work.” He looked up at the younger man and forced a smile. “I’ll apologise now for the rest of the night. If he has his way it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“I’ve survived far worse, I’m sure,” Zechs replied dryly. “Do you want me to tell him to get stuffed for you? I can – I’d only be following my orders.”

Treize’s eyes widened in alarm. “God, no,” he hissed. “Don’t bait him, please. I’m used to him and you don’t want him after you.”

“If you say so,” Zechs sighed. “But there will be a limit.”

Treize reached out and caught Zechs’s arm with his hand. “Zechs,” he started urgently, and stopped abruptly as the Duke’s shadow fell over the table.

The older officer sat back in his chair sharply, looking away as the nobleman sat down again.

“That looked like a very heated exchange, boys. I trust nothing is wrong?”

 

***********************

 

By the time the dessert course was ordered Zechs had reached his breaking point.

The sickening façade of politeness had continued throughout the meal, with the Duke asking questions about Zechs’s career to date and finding every opportunity to propose toasts. He’d insisted on changing the wine for every course, and made both younger men finish each glass that was poured for them.

He’d also spent the night subtly needling Treize with comments that were just this side of acceptable.

For a time, the older officer had returned each one in like fashion, albeit so meekly that Zechs was wondering if some sort of double had replaced his commander, but in the last quarter of an hour or so, the redhead had drifted into distracted silence.

The Duke seemed to be noticing his state with an amused smile. “Well, Captain, what would you say to a nightcap after we finish dessert? The bar has a very fine selection of brandies.”

Zechs turned his head from his scrutiny of Treize. “I’m very much afraid I’ll have to decline that offer. It’s getting late, and we do have a very early meeting in the morning.”

“Oh, come now. One drink more won’t make that great a difference, after all.”

“I’m really very sorry, but no.”

The Duke raised an eyebrow and offered what Zechs assumed was supposed to be an entreating smile. “Well, perhaps we should skip dessert then? I’m not sure I could eat another bite in any case.”

Zechs didn’t need the sudden glance he got from Treize to know that accompanying the older man to the bar was to be avoided at all costs. For one thing, if the amount of wine they’d had was enough to make Treize look as ill as he was beginning to, then Zechs was absolutely sure that he didn’t want the older man touching anything stronger. For another, the blond wasn’t sure he could stand to spend another minute in the Duke’s company.

Thinking quickly, Zechs nodded politely and then excused himself as though he were going to the bathroom. As he got to his feet, he let his balance shift enough that he fell into the table, knocking it hard.

The jolt tipped all three wine glasses over, and as Zechs pretended to catch himself on the edge of the table, he made a point of clipping the half full bottle with his hand.

Treize jumped back enough to avoid the tide of liquid, but the Duke was liberally doused with it.

“Oh!” Zechs exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I think I’ve had more to drink than I realised!”

With the Duke levelling him a killing glance, Zechs delivered a swift kick under the table that jolted Treize enough that he jumped into the act, leaning forward to try to help his father neaten his clothes. He bit off a few reprimanding words at the younger officer, his eyes conveying his real feelings.

“Don’t touch me!” the Duke snarled suddenly, shoving his son away. He straightened to his full height, waving away the converging staff angrily, and glared at Zechs. “Very clever, Captain,” he spat, then turned on his son. “Your tastes don’t change, do they, Treize?” he hissed. “Did you hand-pick this one? I’m surprised at Doroteo for encouraging you.”

Zechs bridled at the sheer venom in the man’s tone. The look he was directing at Treize was chilling, hateful. “I beg your pardon, sir?” he asked coolly, drawing the older man’s attention back to himself.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Benoît demanded, his eyes raking over Zechs furiously.

“Excuse me?!” the blond spluttered.

“Have you fucked him yet?” the Duke repeated. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “And don’t pretend it’s not like that, Captain. A pretty boy like you, alone with him all that time on that train? He wouldn’t have kept his hands off you.”

Zechs opened his mouth to counter angrily, and stopped when Treize stepped in front of him. “Leave him alone, Father,” the older officer said.

“Protective, aren’t we?” Benoît mocked. “Do you actually care about this one, then? I can see why you would – he’s certainly a good match for your dead Prince!”

“Leave him alone!” Treize hissed.

“Has he told you he loves you?” the Duke asked Zechs suddenly, gesturing at his son angrily. “He’s lying if he has. You’re not the first, boy, and you won’t be the last. You look just like all the others. Blond hair, and I’ll bet you have blue eyes. Slim and tall. Clones, all of you. Bad enough for him to be a pervert in the first place, without that!” The man’s face twisted, something like sorrow touching the flaming anger. “Can’t do the decent thing, the little bastard. It should have been Lady Une on that train, but I suspect he told you that. She’s a good girl, a good family. It would have been a good match.” Benoît’s voice dropped, and his gaze took on an edge of pleading as he looked at the younger officer. “I had to give him one last chance to redeem himself, you see,” the Duke explained coaxingly, leaving Zechs to wonder what the hell was happening. “He is my son, my only child. His poor mother would be horrified if she knew what she’d given her life for.” The man’s face curled into a snarl again as he turned back to Treize, standing motionless by his side. “Perverted, damaged, pathetic little bastard,”

Zechs stared at the older man, stunned. The Duke had never raised his voice, but he was red in the face and glaring at Treize fit to kill. The emotional shifts in his rant made the blond wonder whether the man wasn’t quite mad.

Whatever he was, his effect on Treize was obvious. The reason for all of the older officer’s warnings and meek behaviour was clear now. He’d been desperately trying to avoid exactly this sort of scene, and no wonder. The kinds of accusations Benoît was flinging about could ruin Treize for life if they spread to the wrong ears.

Treize must have realised what Zechs hadn’t – that his father was risking Zechs’s reputation as well as his – because the older officer swallowed hard and opened his mouth. “Stop it,” he begged. “Say what you like to me, but leave anyone else out of it.”

The Duke suddenly leaned forward and caught his son’s face in his hand. “I’ll say whatever I like to whomever I like. You aren’t going to stop me, are you?” There was a moment’s silence. “I didn’t think so.”

He stepped back. “It was a pleasure, boys,” he said softly, his smile that of a shark. “I’ll see you at the estate for your birthday, Treize,” he added before sweeping away.

Treize watched him go helplessly, and then his knees buckled suddenly.

Jolted, Zechs caught him hastily and helped him slide back into his abandoned chair as the staff finally hurried up to begin stripping the table.

“I’m sorry, Zechs,” Treize murmured, pressing one hand to his eyes. “I warned you, but I never thought…”

“Forget it,” Zechs said shortly. “Do you think I care what he says to me?” he demanded. “I’d give a hell of a lot to be able to call him out! How dare he speak to you like that?!”

“He’s my father,” Treize replied wearily. “He speaks to me how he sees fit; he always has. And please, don’t challenge him for my sake. I’ve no wish to see you hurt.”

Zechs snorted. “Me? I wasn’t planning to lose.”

“No, but you would. He’s a master Swordsman, Zechs,” the older officer said softly. “I’ve never beaten him.”

That thought was enough to make the younger man take pause. “I didn’t say I was going to challenge him,” he admitted eventually, a touch grudgingly. “Just that I’d like to.”

Treize made a soft sound that might have been a chuckle, pressing harder with his fingers so that the tips of them went white with the pressure. “I know the feeling,” he murmured.

Zechs watched him worriedly, until one of the waiters who’d helped to re-lay the table made a little gesture with one hand from where he was hovering nervously.

The younger officer looked away from his companion and to the staff member, blinking in surprise when he met the eyes of a graceful man in his mid-fifties.

The man nodded his head in Treize’s direction, raising a questioning eyebrow and making another expressive gesture. Zechs shrugged, then got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a moment, sir,” he told Treize, and stepped away from the table, drawing the man out of earshot.

“Is everything all right, sir?” the waiter asked, as soon as they stopped moving. “We couldn’t help overhearing some of the exchange, I’m afraid,” he apologised.

Zechs could feel colour coming to his face but he forced himself to keep his back straight and his eyes on the waiter’s. “We’re fine, thank you,” he replied, quelling the curiosity in the man’s face with a cool tone. “It was a family dispute, that’s all,” he offered, knowing a limited version of the truth would be better than wild speculation. “They’re father and son and they don’t get along very well. You have my apologies for the disturbance.”

“Oh, no need to worry about that, sir,” the waiter said immediately. “I don’t think you were noticed by anyone else anyway.” He smiled suddenly. “I’m just making sure the two of you are all right, if I may be so bold. Is there anything I can bring you?”

Zechs returned the smile, recognising the sincere intent, and shook his head. “No, nothing, but thank you anyway. If I could just settle the bill…?”

The waiter nodded at him quickly, producing a little machine from the apron he was wearing.

Zechs produced his card case and his billfold from the inside pocket of his jacket, handing the man his Specials account card to cover the bill and the cost of any damages. There was the expected protest at his paying for them, but he overrode the man, just as he overrode the rote objections to the pair of high-denomination bank notes he pressed into the man’s hand when he was given his card back.

“For the staff,” Zechs explained. “For the trouble and the fuss.” He smiled at the waiter again, emphasizing his intent. “And the concern. Please,” he insisted and the man subsided with a grateful smile.

Zechs nodded at him and returned to his table. “Sir?” he asked as he drew level with Treize, and the older man looked up at him with tired eyes.

“Thank you for that,” Treize commented softly. “I’ll give you it back tomorrow.”

“You will not,” Zechs countered, just as quietly. “Back to our room?” he enquired.

Treize nodded. “Please. I’m not feeling….” He trailed off and sighed, standing up slowly. “I am sorry.”

“For what, sir?” Zechs asked, smiling a little. He gestured towards the door, falling into step by his commander’s side this time, rather than his customary position. “I’ll hold you to that walk tomorrow night, mind,” he reminded, keeping his tone light. “Don’t think you’re getting away with it that easily.”

“With your reputation for stubbornness, Captain?” Treize returned, making the effort even if it fell rather short of the mark. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Zechs grinned at the remark, daring enough to brush his hand against Treize’s sleeve. The older man looked down at him at the gesture, his eyes showing his appreciation for it through their exhaustion.

“You look rather done in, sir,” Zechs said. “Would you mind me suggesting you turn in early?” he added as they approached the lift.

Treize nodded silently as he pressed the call button. “It might be an idea,” he agreed, when the doors opened. He got into the lift and waited for Zechs to join him.

As the doors closed again and the lift began to move, he put a hand out to brush the younger man’s fringe. “Join me?” he invited softly, his tone hesitant and unsure.

Zechs smiled and shrugged. “I probably will. I’ll just read for a while or something.”

Treize bit his lip slightly, a fleeting gesture that Zechs almost missed completely. “Zechs, I meant….” He echoed the shrug. “Join me,” he repeated, stressing the words to make his meaning clear.

The blond blinked as understanding came to him, wondering what had prompted the request. He hadn’t thought Treize would have the energy or the inclination for their usual sort of play after the evening he’d had.

It took him a moment of looking into shadowed sapphire eyes to realise that his commander wasn’t asking for anything of the sort. What he wanted was something both much more straightforward and much more complicated at the same time – the simple warmth and comfort of another body next to his whilst he slept.

The younger officer took a slow breath as he considered. No doubt, Treize had no idea what he was asking of Zechs. He couldn’t know that the blond hadn’t allowed anyone so close since he’d lost his family and had, in fact, been in the habit of locking his bedroom door before he slept for quite a few years.

The Academy and a year of barracks living had cured him of that habit – he could sleep with other people in the room now – but he still maintained his isolation, drawing his sheets around himself closely. What Treize wanted would mean abandoning that custom as well. It was an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Thinking that, Zechs suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at himself. He was sure, if he tried to explain it to Treize, that it would sound ridiculous. He was prepared to ‘sleep with’ the man, touch him in as personal a manner as two people could get, but he couldn’t face the idea of actually sleeping with him.

His deliberating must have taken too long, because Treize dropped his hand and took a half step backwards. “Never mind,” the older man said quietly. “It doesn’t matter. I had no right to ask.”

The doors of the lift opened on their floor and Treize was out of them before Zechs had a chance to formulate a reply.

Taking quick steps, the blond followed his commander, trailing him into their suite and watching with some concern as the older man stripped out of his heavy dress jacket carelessly, gathered up his night things from their neatly folded pile on the end of his bed and headed for the bathroom without ever meeting Zechs’s eyes. He shut the door firmly behind himself, leaving the younger man to stare at it in worry for a few seconds.

Slowly, Zechs turned his attention to removing his own uniform and replacing it with the t-shirt and loose pyjama pants he slept in, brushing out his hair and hanging both his uniform and Treize’s jacket back in the wardrobe they’d come from.

He used the little kitchenette area to make two cups of coffee, and then picked up the book he’d bought from the hotel’s little shop during the lunch break of their first day.

He’d been reading for about ten minutes when Treize emerged from the bathroom and made his way to the wardrobe to hang the rest of his uniform.

He noticed the coffee on his way back and flicked a glance at Zechs long enough to acknowledge him. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Zechs replied automatically, setting his book aside. “It was no trouble and I thought you might feel better for it.”

Treize nodded slowly, bringing the cup to his mouth and taking a sip. He winced from the taste of the bitter brew and tilted Zechs a curious look. “I thought you wanted me to sleep?” he commented offhandedly.

The blond shrugged. “I do.”

“And you’re brewing my coffee like this?” Treize wondered.

“I figured you could live without being hung-over in the morning. I’m trying to sober you up.”

The look Treize gave his roommate was incredulous. “You think I’m drunk?” he quizzed, sounding genuinely surprised. “From, what, four and a half glasses of wine?” He took another mouthful of his coffee, winced and shook his head. “Sugar, Zechs,” he murmured. “You forgot the sugar.”

The older man turned on his heel to head into the kitchenette, and dumped sugar into his cup, stirring thoroughly. Behind him, Zechs gave another little shrug. “We had about the same amount and I’m tipsy. You said you don’t drink, so I just assumed….”

Treize leaned lightly against the kitchenette counter, turning himself to look at the other officer. “You just assumed that I have no head for it.”

“Pretty much. Sorry.”

The redhead tilted his head ruefully, swirling the coffee in the cup gently. “Don’t apologise. It’s a fair enough conclusion to draw, I suppose, if a wrong one.”

Zechs smiled softly. “My mistake, then.” He hesitated for a second, and then grinned wickedly. “I’ll let you off drinking that coffee, in that case. I’ll even make you a cup that hasn’t been run through the filter twice.”

The older man just shook his head. “I thought the bite was familiar from somewhere,” he replied, smiling a little. A moment later, the senior officer pushed away from the counter and came back into the main room of the suite, using his free hand to wrap his ankle length robe around his slender form more securely.

He settled himself onto the end of his bed and canted the blond a mischievous look. “It’s utter folklore, by the way,” he said.

“What is?”

“Strong coffee counteracting alcohol. It doesn’t. All it does is keep the person awake long enough that they start to sober up. When did you learn to double brew coffee anyway?”

“Academy finals,” Zechs answered. “It was that or caffeine pills, and they’re technically regarded as cheating. One of my friends taught me.”

Treize nodded. “You and every other cadet in the Specials.” He snorted softly. “It gets worse, you know? You’ll know you’ve reached command rank when you’re washing those caffeine pills down with coffee brewed like this.”

“Urgh.” Zechs shuddered. “Sounds dreadful.”

“Less than fun, admittedly.” Treize shook his head, then covered his mouth with his free hand as he yawned suddenly. “Oh, dear. Excuse me,” he said, shivering once from head to foot.

Zechs smiled at him affectionately. “Bed?” he offered. “I’ve set the alarm.”

Treize nodded, getting to his feet again to strip off his dressing gown. “Remind me to promote you,” he murmured, blinking when Zechs stepped into him and took the heavy robe from him, tossing it lightly across the second bed. “Zechs?”

Zechs shrugged slightly, dropping his gaze. “You said you wanted me to join you. Have you changed your mind?”

The older man was silent for a moment, looking down at his roommate. “No,” he admitted eventually. “If you’re happy to, I really would appreciate it.”

“I’m happy to. I just had to… get my head around the idea.” The blond smiled, trying to cover the nervous flutter spreading through his body. “You surprised me,” he admitted.

Treize answered his smile with one that looked puzzled. “Why?” he asked, bringing his hand up to tousle Zechs’s hair again in an affectionate gesture that was starting to become familiar, though it had never been used outside their more intimate moments before tonight. Right from the first, Treize seemed to have been drawn to his hair like a magnet – the only living person other than Zechs himself to touch it.

Zechs shrugged. “You just did.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not something I’ve done before,” he said, trying to make it sound casual. He moved again to step past the other man and get into bed, and stopped when Treize caught his shoulder with a hand.

The pilot looked up to see Treize looking at him steadily. “Really?” the older officer asked softly. “Thank you again, then.” He smiled weakly, the expression showing a touch of embarrassment. “I didn’t think about what I was asking properly. I should have.”

Zechs answered his smile with one of his own. “Why should you have? You’re not asking anything that major of me.” He let his smile become a self-conscious grin. “I realised that when I was trying to find a way to explain to you. Daft of me to not be wiling to actually sleep with you, given I’m already ‘sleeping’ with you.”

Treize chuckled softly. “You’re not, in truth, but I take your point. Strange where one puts the boundaries of intimacy, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, his gaze flickering, just for a moment, to the gloves he was still wearing.

Zechs raised an eyebrow, recalling abruptly that he’d still never seen his commander without them. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he agreed, realising what Treize meant. Deliberately, he reached out and put one hand over one of the older man’s, closing his fingers and tugging as he finished his aborted attempt to get into the bed.

Treize tensed a little, confirming Zechs’s suspicions that there was something about the redhead’s hands that he wanted to keep secret, but the grip meant that he had no choice but to follow.

There was a minute’s shuffling and rustling as they got settled, and then Zechs rolled onto one side and propped himself on his elbow to look down at his companion, feeling his body heat as a pleasant antidote to the coldness of the crisp sheets. He reached over and flicked the light off with the switch by the bed.

Treize sighed softly, shifting again in the darkness. “I’m sorry for tonight,” he murmured after a moment or two had passed in silence. “I’m sorry you had to be there, that you had to hear what my father said.”

Zechs shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he said shortly. “I don’t care what he said.” Realising Treize couldn’t see him in the dark, he reached out and absently began to run his fingers through his commander’s short hair.

There was another soft sigh, then Treize leaned into the touch. “It does matter,” he corrected quietly. “Some of the things he said to you…”

Zechs interrupted him. “What he said to me, he said to use me to get to you. I know that. You said yourself – he uses every weakness he thinks you have, and he thought I was one.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “He obviously has issues with you being gay.” Deliberately, he kept his voice neutral and the statement open ended.

Treize snorted. “That’s a very polite way to put it. The man hates me, and everything about me. Him finding out I prefer my own gender was the final nail in a coffin that was set for burial the moment I was born.” He took a deep breath and Zechs could feel him tensing. “He never quite forgave me for surviving when my mother didn’t.”

Zechs bit his lip, wondering what to say to that. “Your mother died…” he started awkwardly.

“Giving birth to me, yes,” Treize confirmed briskly, as though eager to be past the point. “My relatives tell me that she’d never been a strong woman and had miscarried repeatedly. Her doctors had actually advised her to give up on the idea of having children of her own because they didn’t think her health would stand the strain, but my father insisted on having an heir, so she gave it one more try. She carried to term but there were complications with the birth. I survived, she didn’t, and my father has always blamed me for that.” There was another dismissive noise. “Which is fair, because I’ve always blamed him for pushing her to have a child she’d been told not to.”

Zechs took a moment to find his voice. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be. The only one at fault is him, but he can’t bear that he killed the woman he loved, so he shifts the blame to me and he always has. Everything else over the years has just been icing on the cake. I avoid him whenever I can.”

The bitterness in his commander’s voice was too clear, and it made Zechs lean into him a little as he shook his head again. “I can see why,” he agreed. “I think I would have been, too.”

Treize nodded, Zechs feeling the gesture under his hand, and shrugged. “I’d deal with him, if he didn’t keep using his friendship with General Catalonia to track me down and force me into meeting with him. Catalonia has never quite understood just exactly how poisonous our relationship is. He thinks he’s helping by forcing us together and my father plays to that by telling him he only wants to talk to me and that I avoid him for no good reason. No doubt, when I get back to base, I’ll have to listen to another lecture about family being the only thing in this world that can be counted on.”

Zechs rolled off his elbow and settled his head onto his pillow next to the older man. The nature of the conversation, the lowered tones Treize was using, all suggested an intimacy that was far greater than the one that actually existed between the two men. Responding to the feeling between them without thinking about it, the blond tucked himself down against his commander’s side and pulled the heavy, crisp sheets of the bed up around them both so they were almost cocooned in them. It was a trick he had learned as a small child, something he’d done with more than one member of his family, something he’d forgotten about until now. “General Catalonia?” he asked. “Why would he be interested?”

Treize turned himself on his side, so they were facing one another. “His wife is my cousin,” he said quietly. “Her father is Duke Dermail, my uncle. My mother was his sister.”

“Romefeller’s Dermail?” Zechs asked, startled. He’d known his commander had powerful friends and relatives – he wouldn’t have been representing the Specials at this conference any other way, and rumours always abounded that he’d gotten his rank by nepotism rather than talent – but the blond hadn’t thought they’d be so many and so close. “But he was arguing with you today.”

Treize smiled, and Zechs’s eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness of the room that the expression was dimly visible. “Of course he was. We represent somewhat opposing factions. If the Alliance general troops begin using Leo’s, his Group stand to make a small fortune in profits, where as we in the Specials lose not only some of our uniqueness, and therefore some of our eliteness, but also our buying power. He needed the motion to carry, I needed it not to, but both of us know it was only a professional disagreement. Don’t be too surprised if he comes to see me tomorrow. Certainly, he will as soon as he hears of that lovely little scene in the restaurant, if only to console me for having to deal with my father.”

Zechs didn’t quite know what to say. The turn the conversation had taken had reminded him how many different versions of the other man there seemed to be.

The blond had first encountered the cool and capable frontline commander, and had served under him for a number of months without learning anything more than that he was worthy of the growing respect Zechs felt for him. The next version Zechs had come across had been the attractive, friendly man he’d been seduced by on their train journey to the conference. The 48 hours after their first encounter had been enough to establish that, not only were the two of them nicely compatible in bed, but that they had enough in common out of it to form the basis of a solid friendship.

The conference itself had taught Zechs that his new friend was a cunning, clever politician, expert at reading people and manipulating them. He’d enjoyed watching Treize work, and learned a lot.

Those three seemed at least partially as though they could fit together in one person – Zechs was more familiar than most with the concept of wearing a mask to hide a true identity, or of assuming a persona to accomplish a task.

The soft-spoken, battered, vulnerable young man that had appeared this evening, however, didn’t seem to fit at all. There was no place for him in any of the other three men his commander appeared to be, and if Zechs respected one, admired another and actively enjoyed the third, then this latest version was ringing all sorts of bells Zechs hadn’t even known he had.

From the moment he’d helped Treize to calm his nerves on, Zechs had been plagued by the feeling that he was missing something. The Treize at dinner had been almost _familiar_ , the way they were curled in the sheets felt, not awkward and a little frightening as Zechs had been expecting, but close and completely comfortable, as though it was something he’d been doing all his life. Somewhere, sometime this evening something had clicked into place in Zechs that he’d been missing for longer than he could remember.

Somehow, the blond felt he knew this Treize – and that was impossible, because until he’d been assigned to the older man’s Wing, the two of them had never met before in their lives.

The feeling was unnerving. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Treize seemed to have switched from that person to someone else again, so that Zechs wasn’t quite sure which of the persona’s he was in bed with, or if it was a completely new one he’d agreed to sleep next to.

He must have taken too long in his thoughts, because Treize smiled again, a touch diffidently, and reached out to touch him lightly. “Have I put you off? I didn’t think you’d mind a few relatives crawling out of the woodwork?”

Quickly, dismissing his train of thought, Zechs shook his head. “Of course you haven’t put me off, though I’ll admit I could live without your father.”

“Couldn’t we all,” Treize sighed wearily. “I’ll not tell you that was rather tame for him. I have hopes of coaxing you into coming home with me for my birthday and I wouldn’t want to scare you off.”

The off-hand comment provoked the chuckle it was supposed to, but before Zechs could come up with a suitable answer, Treize had settled himself a little more firmly into his pillows, caught the sheets to him with one hand and closed his eyes.

Zechs contented himself with making a light, fleeting kiss be his reply, noting with satisfaction that the older man smiled in response before he closed his own eyes and let himself fall asleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Treize was out of bed and ready for the day before Zechs woke to the sound of the alarm the next morning. He reached out to hit the button that would shut it off with a soft protesting groan and found his hand meeting the warmth of another as blissful silence flooded through the room.

He rolled over, in the direction of that hand, and burrowed into the warmth of the bed, sighing softly as he drifted back into the dreams he’d been disturbed from.

The fingers under his flinched, even as someone nearby gave a soft snort of amusement. “Time to get up, Captain,” Treize murmured, and Zechs opened his eyes slowly.

He blinked in sleepy surprise when he saw that the older man was sitting, in full uniform, on the edge of the bed, one hand trapped within one of Zechs’s own, looking down at the blond with an affectionate half-smile on his face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” Treize continued. “But if you want breakfast, you have to get up now or we’ll be late for our first appointment.”

Blinking again as he fought for alertness, Zechs used his free hand to push the sheets back from his body and levered himself to something approaching a sitting position. He glanced around the room, then pulled his hand away from his commander’s and reached up to stretch.

Treize stood up as soon as he was free to do so, chuckling at the younger man as he moved towards the kitchen. “Very feline,” he teased.

“Hmm?” Zechs asked, settling back into himself with a little shake. “What is?”

“You. Hurry up.”

Taking Treize’s cajoling to heart, Zechs fairly jumped out of bed and, pausing only to gather up his clean clothes from where they were stored, disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging a short time later fully dressed and with his faintly golden skin still showing the pinkness of a good scrubbing.

He stepped towards the dressing table to begin working his brush through his damp hair. As he did so, Treize intercepted him long enough to press a cup into his hand, the smell betraying that it was hot coffee.

Zechs opened his mouth to thank him, and stopped when he realised Treize was paying him no attention. Delivering the mug of coffee had been an automatic gesture, made as the older man passed the pilot on his way towards the sitting area, his own cup in one hand and raised to his lips as he concentrated on the shift of papers he was reading.

The blond watched as Treize folded into one of the chairs without breaking concentration, and then turned back to the mirror with a curiously pleased smile on his face. He had no idea what it was about being given a cup of coffee that had made him feel so warmed, but it was a nice sensation.

It was the work of only a minute or two to tidy his hair and make sure his uniform was on straight, and then Zechs took his coffee cup and went to join his commander in the sitting room, taking the chair opposite him without saying a word. His intention was to sit there, as quietly as he could, until Treize made it clear he was finished with his reading, but almost as soon as he sat down the older man looked up at him, smiled and set his notes aside on the coffee table between them.

“If I’d known you were going to get ready that quickly I’d have left you in bed another half hour,” Treize said.

Zechs shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He took another sip of his coffee, and then shot the older officer an impish smile. “How’s your head this morning?” he asked slyly.

Treize blinked in confusion. “My head?” he asked, then sighed as he realised what the blond was saying. “It’s fine, thank you,” he answered, acknowledging the gentle teasing for what it was. “For now, at least,” he continued after a beat. “It won’t be by lunchtime. This schedule was put together by a three year old, I swear. These appointments are supposed to be spaced throughout the conference, not all run together like this.” Treize passed his morning’s calendar over to the younger man, waiting for Zechs to skim it before he carried on. “I was hoping to catch the start of the debate on colonial demilitarisation but I don’t think we’ll have time. You’d better make sure you have a good breakfast, Zechs. I don’t doubt we’ll be working straight through lunch.”

Zechs shrugged. “I can always run out somewhere for something.” He smiled. “I’m sure Lady Une will be pleased to hear you think her schedule could have been done better by a child.”

Treize returned the smile but he shook his head. “Une didn’t put this together; she knows better. I suspect the hand of one of General Catalonia’s secretaries here. In theory, putting all my private appointments into one morning block like this makes sense, but only if you have no idea how hard work those appointments are. Une knows very well what they’re like, and she knows I was interested in this afternoon’s debate. She wouldn’t have risked overrunning it like this.” He shrugged, taking a mouthful of his coffee. “It’s my own fault, really. I should have arranged my schedule myself but I didn’t have time.”

Zechs frowned a little, setting two small creases between his eyebrows. “I can call and see if I can reschedule some of them if you want? I might be able to free up some of these spaces.”

Treize shook his head. “I don’t think you will. The timetables for meetings like this are set months in advance. It’s not worth the effort you’d have to go to, but thank you for offering. I’ll manage, but I might be sending you to find aspirin by mid-morning.”

The red head softened his words with a small smile and Zechs found himself returning it. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find some from somewhere.”

“I’m sure,” Treize returned. “Are you ready?”

The younger man nodded his assent. “Yes.”

“Good. Come on then.”

 

*********************

 

If the run of meetings gave Treize the warned about headache, he’d either decided he didn’t need to take anything for it, or else he’d been joking about needing to send Zechs for aspirin and the painkiller was one of the tablets he took from a little case he was carrying in his pocket and downed hurriedly with a mouthful of water between appointments mid-morning.

Taking Treize’s warning to heart, Zechs had steadily eaten his way through a mountainous breakfast, pausing only to note that Treize was contenting himself with a couple of slices of toast as he usually did and that the older man’s father was nowhere in the dining room.

He’d spent the rest of the morning sitting quietly on a chair in a corner of the meeting room Treize had been assigned by the hotel, watching as the man met with various important people, military and civilian alike, and covered a range of topics with them without missing a beat. He’d moved only to open the door for people, to hand Treize documents he asked for and, once, to retrieve a top up for the water jug standing on the edge of the redhead’s desk.

The meetings had been running late almost from the very first, until Treize had asked Zechs to run and contact his next appointment and warn them of the delay if there wasn’t an improvement in his schedule soon. Fortunately, his last meeting, with a representative of L3, had been extremely brief, the man wanting support for his position at a debate later in the week that Treize had already been planning to give.

The man had left almost as soon as he’d arrived, smiling from ear to ear, and Treize had leaned back in his chair with a relieved sigh. Suddenly, they’d gone from being twenty minutes behind to being quarter of an hour in front.

Zechs watched as Treize tidied his desk off and then closed his eyes briefly. The older man’s right hand was extended on the wooden surface in front of him, the fingers opening and closing slowly as he flexed his wrist. The blond wasn’t at all surprised it was aching, not after the amounts of hand shaking, note taking and gesturing his commander had done in the past few hours.

“If you want lunch, you’d be best to run and grab something now,” Treize said into the silence of the room suddenly. “I’ve met with the next gentleman on our list at almost every conference I’ve been to, and he always runs over time. I’ve never met anyone better able to say in thirty words what could have been said in five, especially when he wants something.”

Zechs smiled, giving a soft laugh. “He’s worse than that chap from L1 was a couple of hours ago?” he asked, his tone conveying his disbelief.

“Orders of magnitude worse, yes. I think he does it deliberately. Most people agree to whatever he wants either to shut him up or because they haven’t the wit to work out what he’s really saying in all the effusiveness.”

“Well, if it works…” Zechs chuckled, getting to his feet. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Is there anything in particular you want or should I just take my best guess from what there is?”

Treize opened his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not hungry. Just make sure you’re back here in time for the next appointment.”

Zechs, one hand already on the door, paused and looked back over his shoulder, frowning in worry. “Treize….” He hesitated, biting his lip. “Are you sure about that? You barely ate breakfast.”

The older man shook his head again. “I’m sure,” he insisted. “Go on, or you won’t have time.”

The blond still hesitated, staring at his commander in concern. A moment later, he shook himself and turned away, opening the heavy door. “All right,” he agreed as he began to walk down the corridor. “But that walk tonight is going to include dinner somewhere!”

A rueful smile touched Treize’s face as his pilot’s stubborn protest echoed back to him, before it faded away in favour of a small grimace as he shook the hand he had resting on the desk and put the other to his stomach, pressing down briefly for a moment. “Damn,” he swore softly. “And Catalonia wonders why I hate my father.”

 

**********************

 

Zechs was back in less than ten minutes, two covered disposable cups held in his hands. He was grateful, when he reached the office, that he’d left the door slightly ajar, because he wouldn’t have been able to get back through it if he’d closed it behind him.

His brief sojourn down to the dinning room had proved that Treize had been right about at least one of the things he’d said the night before. Almost as soon as the pilot had stepped into the room, he’d had his arm taken by a tall, heavily set older man with a shock of white hair and beard and deep-set brown eyes.

The man had called him by both name and rank, guiding him to a discreet corner away from the main doorway, as he asked where Treize was and what had happened the night before.

The second question had been all Zechs needed to identify the man as Duke Dermail and he’d filled the man in as quickly and succinctly as he could.

Dermail had listened in complete silence, frown growing deeper as Zechs talked and only lightening briefly into a smile when Zechs confessed to his little trick with the wine. He’d called it quick thinking, asked how Treize had seemed to be that morning and promised he’d pay a visit to the little office in the next hour or so to see for himself.

He’d also all but ordered Zechs to ignore Treize’s instructions not to bring him anything to eat and had advised the blond to take his commander something light for lunch.

Zechs had obeyed, and now the first thing that he did when he slid through the door to the office was to put one of the covered cups down on the desk in front of the older officer. When Treize raised an eyebrow curiously, he smiled and informed him, “Orders of your Uncle. Sorry, sir.”

The red head’s eyebrow flickered in curiosity but he picked the cup up and peeled the lid off it, inhaling slowly to pick up the scent from the rising steam. The aroma of the rich vegetable soup filled the small room and made Zechs sit down and take the lid off his own cup.

“Well, at least you kept it to something I stand a chance with,” Treize muttered. “I take it that you encountered Duke Dermail on your travels?” he asked, taking a small sip from the cup.

Zechs swallowed the mouthful he’d just taken hastily and nodded. “He collared me in the dining room, wanting to know what happened last night. He said he’d come see you here in a little while.”

Treize smiled. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

“Fortunately.”

That made the older man chuckle and he shot Zechs an affectionate look before turning his attention back to his soup.

 

*********************

 

Treize had been right about the last of the delegates on their list of meetings, too. The man had effusive waffling down to a fine art form. Listening to him going on and on for almost an hour would probably have been enough to put Zechs to sleep if he hadn’t been caught by increasing concern for his commander.

Intermittently since Zechs had come back from his lunch run, the older man had been grimacing, flexing his right hand as though it was hurting and occasionally bracing the other hand against the line of his polished leather belt. They were small gestures, barely noticeable – Zechs was sure their guest hadn’t spotted them – but they were still worrying. If it hadn’t been more than his career was worth to interrupt the meeting, the blond would have shut the delegate up with a few well-chosen words, chucked him out of the room and flat out asked Treize what was going on.

The delegate wound to a halt eventually and Zechs rose to show him out with a polite smile, and then closed the door firmly behind him. He turned to face the desk with a determined expression, opening his mouth to ask the red head what the matter was and was cut off before he could get the first word out by a sharp rap on the office door.

“Dermail,” Treize said softly from his chair, and without opening the eyes he’d closed as soon as his guest had turned his back. “Let him in,” he instructed.

Sighing heavily, Zechs opened the door again and nodded a greeting to the Duke he’d so recently met, noting that the older man took one look at Treize and scowled instantly.

“Treize,” he greeted tersely. “Done too much writing this morning, my boy?” he asked shortly, inclining his head in the direction of the hand Treize was rubbing with the other.

Zechs closed the door again behind the Romefeller representative and watched as the man went straight to the desk and bent over his nephew, leaning on both hands and pinning the officer with a sharp gaze. To the blonde’s surprise, his commander blushed, the colour touching the line of his high cheekbones, and refused to meet his uncle’s eyes.

“No,” Treize answered, voice low. “I haven’t.” He sighed softly. “But you already knew that.”

Zechs raised an eyebrow in curiosity as Dermail nodded sharply. “I did,” the older man confirmed. “I heard about your little encounter last night,” he continued. “His usual trick, I take it?”

The officer’s face twisted into a rather rueful expression, tinged with the same bitterness Zechs had heard the night before. “Something like it,” Treize confessed, and Zechs concluded they were talking about the redhead’s father and his games with the wine. “If I had a way to stop him using it, I would.”

The Duke snorted rudely at the weak protest. “Toss the wine in his face and walk out,” he replied shortly. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“Yes, that would do wonders for my reputation, wouldn’t it?” Treize asked dryly, shaking his head. “I can only imagine the scandal.”

“It would be unpleasant, I’m sure, but he’s provoking you like this every time you see him now,” Dermail countered evenly. “Better for your reputation to suffer a little, than your health.”

“And when he construes it as a challenge to a formal duel?” Treize asked, deceptively quietly. His eyes were flashing. “A sword or a pistol round to the gut won’t be better for my health and fighting a duel with my own father would ruin me for life, even assuming I survived.”

Dermail laughed briefly, but he shook his head and straightened away from the desk. “I think you underestimate yourself, but I take your point. There are other ways – you could always do what your pilot friend did. That was a lovely bit of thinking.” The Duke glanced over his shoulder at Zechs for a moment and then back to his nephew. “Does he know?” he asked.

Know what? Zechs wondered immediately, but Treize was already shaking his head. “Not yet,” he replied. “I don’t make a habit of informing my subordinates. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t find out very shortly, though,” he murmured and his voice was so soft that Zechs almost didn’t catch the words.

He doubted he’d been intended to hear them – certainly they were meaningless to him beyond telling him that there was something Treize had been keeping from him

Apparently, they weren’t meaningless to the Duke. Dermail’s strong form tensed immediately, one hand lifting to extend towards the redhead. “That bad?” he asked.

“Bad enough,” Treize confirmed softly and the older man immediately began moving around the desk.

“Come along, then,” he instructed briskly, his outstretched hand hooking under Treize’s elbow to draw him to his feet. He glanced around the little meeting room, his dark eyes flashing briefly over Zechs where he still stood by the door. “I can’t think of a worse location. Which way are your rooms?”

Treize gave a diffident shrug as he stood up and stepped away from his uncle. “On the third floor, in the east wing. It’s quite some distance…” he commented, apparently offhandedly.

Dermail nodded, gesturing at Zechs to open the door and gather up Treize’s notes. “Well, we’ll try then,” he acknowledged, then his voice dropped. “I’d appreciate any warning you can give me, my boy,” he murmured.

Treize nodded as he followed the Duke’s urgings towards the door. “I’ll try,” he agreed, “but it will be as obvious as it always is.” He shrugged again, lightly. “I could have hours yet without it escalating,” he commented, and Zechs scowled as he tried to work out what was going on. Clearly, the Duke was concerned for his nephew for some reason and both older men seemed to be expecting something to happen, but what?

“You could,” Dermail said. “But you could also only have a few minutes – do you want to risk it?”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Treize shook his head, flexing his right hand again. “No, not really,” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought.” Dermail smiled just slightly as he spoke, then looked back over his shoulder at Zechs again. “Come along, Captain,” he instructed.

Obeying silently, Zechs followed his commander and his imperious relative, notes in one hand as he tried furiously to work out what was happening. He walked behind the two older men, lost in trying to piece things together and was jolted from his thoughts when Treize dropped back a pace to come to his side.

“I’m sorry for this,” the redhead said quietly, and started Zechs out of a decade of his life.

It was good for making Treize laugh a little. “Distracted, were you?” he teased, then sobered again, his eyes flinching from something for a moment. “As I said, I’m sorry for this. There’s a reason I avoid alcohol, and a reason my father forces me to drink. If I’d known he was going to be here I would have warned you about all this in advance. I should have tried to explain last night.”

“It’s all right,” Zechs answered automatically. “It doesn’t matter. You did tell me that you and alcohol don’t agree.”

“I did,” Treize agreed. “If I have time when we get back to our rooms, I’ll try to explain more, but I’m not sure…” He broke off and shook his head. “We’ll see. I’m going to ask you to keep anything that might happen this afternoon a secret, if you would? I’d count it a favour.”

Zechs blinked, taken aback. “Of course! You really think you need to ask?” he wondered, and Treize smiled at him again, the expression warm and grateful.

“Thank you. I’ll ask you not to be alarmed, as well.” The smile suddenly turned into a wicked grin. “Oh, and be ready to catch!”

“Catch?” Zechs spluttered in disbelief. “Why on Earth would I need to be ready to catch?”

Treize shrugged, losing the smile as he looked away, turning his gaze onto the rich carpeting under his boots. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone of voice dismissive. He was obviously regretting having made the comment.

Zechs watched him warily as they walked another few paces, clearing the corridor the little meeting rooms were set off and turning into the main hall of the hotel. “Sir… Treize…” he began awkwardly and stopped when the older man turned to him and put a hand on his arm to draw him to a halt.

“I might need you to go to the conferences this afternoon in my place,” the redhead said, his words clipped as though he were short of time to say what he was going to. “My notes are in the front pocket of my attaché case. I don’t know how much training you’ve had for this sort of thing, but do your best with them. Record anything you think I might need to know about later. Take a Dictaphone, if you think it will help.”

Zechs blinked, frowning in confusion and mounting concern. “Yes, sir,” he agreed automatically. “But why…?”

“I need to sit down,” Treize interrupted shortly.

The younger man felt Treize tighten the hold he had on his arm, leaning his weight into the blond. Zechs, reacting without thinking, brought his free arm up, intending to slide it around his commander to offer further support. “Sir, what’s the matter?” he demanded, hearing the sharp edge of worry his voice took on when he saw the way Treize had paled and not liking it. “Treize!”

Dermail’s solid form appeared from somewhere behind the younger pilot – he’d obviously realised that his companions weren’t with him and backtracked – and one gloved hand patted Zechs on the shoulder before reaching to offer its own support to his nephew. “You were supposed to warn me,” he chided gently. He nodded his head in the direction of the door on the other side of the room. “This way, Captain,” he ordered. “And you, keep it together till we get clear of this hall.”

“I did say it would be obvious,” Treize replied breathlessly. “I’ll try. I’m sorry, Zechs.”

Zechs shook his head silently, concentrating on matching the way Dermail was supporting and steering Treize without it seeming as though he was.

The three of them had cleared the hall and almost reached the bank of elevators that would take them to the third floor when someone made a mocking sound of pity behind them.

Zechs turned his head to see Treize’s father standing in the corridor, staring at his son with a malicious light in his eyes. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Is he not feeling well?”

The blond pilot glared at the Duke, wanting nothing more than to take a swing at him. He was stopped by Dermail stepping in front of him again.

“Unfortunately not, Benoît,” the other Duke answered coolly. “Captain, give him a hand to his room. I’ll join you momentarily.”

“Yes, sir,” Zechs obeyed. He got a better grip on his commander, not liking at all the way Treize’s breathing had become rapid and shallow. The left doors opened and Zechs steered the two of them into it.

“It’s terribly inconvenient,” Dermail continued softly. “It seems as though something last night disagreed with him.”

Whatever reply Benoît had been going to make was lost to the doors as they closed again.

The elevator shuddered as it began to rise, making Treize waver until Zechs braced him against one of the walls. “Treize, are you all right?” he asked worriedly. “What’s the matter?”

Treize shook his head weakly, opening his eyes to look at his friend. “Don’t fret so,” he whispered. “This is nothing new, I promise. I warned you I didn’t do well with drink.”

“You did, but I wasn’t expecting this. Are you allergic?”

The older man gave a feeble chuckle. “I wish. No, alcohol blocks… my medication…” He gasped suddenly. “Oh, ah!”

“Treize!”

Zechs caught his friend again as the commander’s face twisted in something that was entirely too much like pain.

“Don’t shout,” Treize begged, wincing.

The doors to the lift opened again, and Zechs slid one arm around Treize’s waist as he balanced them both and stepped out into the corridor. “Treize, keep talking to me,” he ordered, hoping the older man would forgive him for the presumption when he was better. “You’re taller than me. I don’t think I can carry you.”

He leaned the redhead into the wall again as he fumbled for the key card that would unlock their suite, and froze when Treize gave a laugh that raised the hairs on his neck.

The sound was high-pitched, too high-pitched for his commander’s lovely tenor, and sounded almost childlike. Zechs looked over his shoulder at the older man, shivering at the open, innocent expression in Treize’s eyes.

The peculiar sense of déjà vu Zechs had been experiencing all day surged to full life, pulling a torrent of memories from where he’d buried them more than eight years before.

It was impossible, but Zechs had seen that expression on this man before; had heard him give exactly that laugh. The only thing wrong about the tableau the two of them seemed to have frozen into was that none of it had ever been directed at Zechs. Treize had only ever reserved that look, that carefree sound for…

“Julian?” Treize asked, his voice still distorted. He reached for Zechs slowly and the blond couldn’t help the way he fell back a pace or two, feeling the blood drain from his own face as he stared at his commander in absolute horror.

“Julian, what are you doing? I’m sorry, but I don’t feel very well.”

“Treize…” Zechs breathed. “I’m not…I’m not Julian. Please, don’t….”

“Zechs, don’t be silly. Not right now.”

For one moment, the blond thought Treize had come round from whatever fit he was having, then the real import of his using that name hit him and Zechs backed away from his roommate blindly, barely feeling the jolting force he hit the far wall with. He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the flood of images and the storming emotions that came with them.

He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten, or he would never have let himself get anywhere near the Specials and their rising star. He’d forgotten that the Khushrenada family had any tie to his own, and hadn’t remembered until it was too late – not even during the argument with Treize’s father last night.

The evidence of his mistake was in front of him now, though. The pilot was aware of his marked resemblance to his dead brother, but only one person had ever called Julian Peacecraft ‘Zechs.’

“Oh, God!” Zechs whispered. The full implications of his discovery were screaming through his head. He’d thought he was being so clever, taking his brother’s nickname for his own use – a way of having his family remembered every time someone called his name – but now… now… He’d never thought to come face to face with the person who had invented that name in the first place.

“Zechs?” Treize asked into the air between them, his voice plaintive.

“Shut up!” Zechs snapped. “Shut up! Snap out of it!” he hissed. “Please!”

The sheer desperate panic in Zechs’s voice must have communicated, because Treize blinked dazedly. “Zechs?” he asked again, taking an unsteady step away from the wall, and there was something about the way he said it that made the pilot think it was actually him who was being addressed

The younger man glanced up and down the length of the corridor frantically, then gave a shocked cry as his commander collapsed suddenly, dropping like a stone in between one step and the next.

It broke him from his daze and he jumped across the space of the passage just barely in time to stop the older man from cracking his head against the carpeting. “Treize!”

The elevator doors swished open again to let Duke Dermail into the corridor, the older man scanning the corridor rapidly before slowly kneeling at his nephew’s side.

“He fell, I think,” Zechs tried to explain. “He must have caught his foot…”

“No,” Dermail answered, but he offered no elaboration. “When?” he demanded.

“P…pardon?” Zechs asked.

“Pull yourself together, Captain!” Dermail snapped. “How long ago did he collapse?”

Zechs tried to draw a deep breath. “Just now, just before you got here. He was…”

“Literally just a few seconds ago?” Dermail queried. “Did he hit his head?”

“No,” the pilot replied. “I caught him in time to prevent…”

“Good lad.” The Duke began loosening the tightly buttoned collar of Treize’s jacket, betraying his affection for the younger man with a quick brush of his hand over the mussed ginger hair. “How was he before he collapsed? Did he say or do anything that seemed unusual to you?”

Zechs shook his head quickly. “No,” he lied. “No. We were talking and then he just…”

The Duke shot him a sharp-eyed glance. “Nothing at all? That’s strange. He usually experiences some intermediate symptoms.” He glanced down again. “Oh, well. He might be able to tell me himself when he comes to. If you would get the door for me, Captain?”

Zechs pushed himself to his feet, picking up his key card from where he’d dropped it in his earlier surprise and using it to get the suite door open as Dermail bent and picked his nephew up carefully.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Elenna Morwen for the accurate French translations!

Several hours later, Zechs got up from his chair, stretching to get rid of the aches sitting for so long had caused.

It had been a very strange afternoon.

Treize’s initial illness and collapse had left Zechs feeling panicked and frantic, caught between worrying over his commander and fretting about himself.

It had quickly become clear, though, that neither reaction was productive. Whatever was wrong with Treize, Dermail had obviously been witness to it before, and with Treize himself out cold, there was no way for Zechs to ascertain exactly what the older man knew about his past.

Zechs tilted his head from one side to the other slowly, then turned on his heel and crossed the sitting room to stand by the side of the bed and look down on his roommate in concern.

Dermail had made a beeline for the beds as soon as Zechs had gotten the suite door open for him, bending to settle his nephew’s limp body on the neatly made surface of the one nearest to the door with a little grunt that suggested it had been more effort for him to carry the younger man than he wanted to admit to.

He’d paused just long enough to take a deep breath, then ordered Zechs to close the door and ‘come and be useful’. Under the Duke’s instructions, they’d stripped Treize down to his undershirt, breeches and socks, then rolled him gently onto his side.

As Dermail reached to free the spare blanket from the end of the bed and toss it over the commander, Treize had groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering as he seemed to come around a little. The Duke had gripped his shoulder and called his name, but there had been no concrete response.

Zechs’s suggestion of calling a doctor had been squashed firmly – Dermail had coldly informed Zechs that Treize wouldn’t thank either of them for letting his condition become public knowledge – and so had the notion of Zechs following Treize’s last orders to him and attending the afternoon’s conferences.

“If you attend without him,” Dermail had clarified, “you’ll invite questions as to his absence. If neither of you are there, it simply looks as though you have something more important to do. Give me his notes,” he’d instructed, “and if he comes to enough to ask, tell him I’ve gone and that I’m having my secretary take a full transcript for him.”

Zechs had found the folder containing Treize’s notes exactly where the older pilot had said it would be and handed it over without another word on the subject. He’d expected Dermail simply to leave at that point but, to the blonde’s surprise, the Duke had hesitated.

“You will be all right on your own with him, won’t you?” he’d asked gently. “I realise that all this must be disconcerting for you, Captain, and certainly not covered by your training.”

“I’ll be all right,” Zechs had answered firmly, “but may I ask – what’s the matter with him? And what should I be expecting to happen this afternoon?”

For a moment, Dermail’s eyes had flashed with approval again. “He had a seizure, brought on by the alcohol last night. Anything more than that is his to tell you,” he’d explained. “As for this afternoon… He’ll probably sleep for a few hours and then wake up later this evening. I don’t think there’s anything you’ll actually need to do until then.” He’d frowned, then gestured dismissively. “There’s a possibility that he’ll vomit but I don’t think it likely. If he is going to, it’s usually when he first comes to and he’s already done that. I’ll ask you to stay in hearing distance, just in case.”

Zechs had nodded his understanding, not moving until Dermail had left the room.

Once the older man had gone, the pilot had spent a few moments removing most of his own uniform and retrieving a towel from the bathroom, and then he’d gone to sit on the edge of the bed next to his sleeping friend.

Treize really did look as though he’d simply decided to take a nap. There was no sign that anything was wrong, nothing to indicate what had happened at all.

For a time, Zechs had stayed where he was, watching the older man and thinking, but eventually, as the afternoon wore on, he’d realised he was doing no good and got up to make himself something to eat and to collect his book. He’d settled himself into one of the armchairs in the lounge area and committed himself to reading.

Dermail had only interrupted the afternoon once – coming by as he had promised he would when the conferences were finished. On learning that Treize was still asleep, he’d nodded, offered a few words of advice regarding the fact that the redhead might not wake at all until the following day, and said his goodnights, only pausing to reassure Zechs that he would be available if his help was needed.

The blond had closed the door after him and gone back to his book. He’d only registered how long he’d been reading when he finished it.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand now, Zechs wondered if Treize really was going to sleep straight through. The older pilot had been out for almost eight hours already and showed no sign of waking. In truth, he hadn’t really moved from where his uncle had settled him, not even to roll over.

“Treize?” he called softly, his voice not much more than a whisper. He wasn’t sure whether he really wanted to wake Treize or not. The older man didn’t stir at all and Zechs contented himself with letting careful fingers brush his cheek lightly. “You would sleep when I have ten thousand questions to ask you,” he chided gently. “How could I have forgotten you?”

The enforced quiet of the afternoon had proved to be beneficial to Zechs’s state of mind in a lot of ways. Having hour after hour of undisturbed time to think had allowed him to sort through some of the deluge of memories he’d been assaulted with, making sense of them and the feelings that had come with them, and slotting them into place with all his others. The sense of familiarity he’d been getting around Treize was no longer impossible, the unexplained trust suddenly made perfect sense.

Far from being the stranger Zechs had thought he was, Treize had once been a major part of the blonde’s life, forming one part of the idyllic childhood he’d had with his family until the Sanc Kingdom had been attacked. Some few years older than the little Prince, the redhead had been a frequent guest at the Palace and Zechs could clearly remember, now, the way he’d idolised the older boy.

It remained to be seen, however, whether Treize had recognised Zechs for who he truly was, or whether his apparent naming of Zechs as his brother, Julian, was only a trick of his mind. The pilot couldn’t make up his mind as to what he would do either way until he had Treize awake to talk to. There were too many factors for him to feel happy making a decision.

Smiling sadly, Zechs moved away from the bed, stripping off the remains of his uniform as he headed into the bathroom to shower.

 

*************************

 

He was just finishing drying his hair when Treize began to stir heavily.

Putting down his brush, Zechs moved quickly to the side of the bed and knelt to put himself in Treize’s line of sight as the sapphire eyes flickered open. The expression in them was distant and dazed, and when he brought a hand up to rub them, Treize’s normally graceful movements were clumsy and inaccurate.

“Treize?” Zechs asked quietly. “Can you look at me?”

The bleary gaze seemed to focus on Zechs’s face for a moment but it slipped away again just as quickly.

“No, Treize, look at me,” Zechs tried again. “Come on.” He caught the hand still rubbing slowly between his own and pressed down firmly, hoping the physical contact would anchor the older man.

Treize cringed.

The reaction flowed through his entire body as he tried to yank his hand back, the other one coming up to try to push Zechs away even as he tried to say something and failed to manage more than an unintelligible noise.

Zechs felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. “It’s all right, sir,” he soothed. “It’s only me. How do you feel?”

Treize shook his head weakly and closed his eyes again.

“Are you going back to sleep?” Zechs asked. “Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable if you got changed? You haven’t really eaten anything all day, either, and you must want a drink. I can get you a glass of water,” he offered.

Something about that seemed to reach the older man. His eyes opened again, still cloudy, and he looked steadily at the blond for a moment before he gave one careful nod.

“Water?” Zechs checked. “You’ll need to sit up, then. Can you?”

Treize took a moment to process that request, and then he started trying to push himself up to sit against his pillows.

It was clearly hard for him. Zechs got the impression that Treize was struggling to control exactly where his body moved to, his limbs resisting as though they weighed more than they should. Zechs got an arm around him and leant his strength, fluffing the pillows up as he did so.

“Better?” he asked, when Treize was upright, and received another careful nod, the gesture coming a little faster and more easily the second time.

Zechs smiled and padded his way into the kitchen to open one of the bottles of water the hotel had provided in the fridge. For a moment, he almost decanted it into a glass as he would have normally, but then he looked at it again and reconsidered. It would probably be easier for his friend to manage as it was and Zechs didn’t think dropping an ordinary glass would do much for Treize feeling better.

He took it back across the room, noting as he moved that the older man was staring into the air ahead of him blankly. He wondered what Treize was thinking, if he was thinking anything at all, and if he remembered everything that had happened that afternoon.

The commander made some effort to look at his friend as the blond sat down on the edge of the bed again and reached out slowly with one hand to take the water bottle. Zechs gave it to him carefully, making doubly certain of his grip before he let it go, and found a smile.

Treize took several cautious sips from the bottle, swallowing slowly and deliberately between each one. It came across to the pilot as though the older man wasn’t sure he was going to be able to get the liquid down and he found his hand reaching for the towel, his body tensing to move as fast as he had to.

“…No…”

The word was slurred but it was clear enough. A moment later, a hand came to rest on Zechs’s, trapping it in place as the younger man looked back up at the older.

“Treize?”

“No… I’m not….”

Zechs frowned. “Are you sure?” he questioned carefully. “Dermail said it might be a problem. It won’t matter,” he added, trying to reassure.

Treize’s pale face gained the slightest flush of colour across his cheekbones but he shook his head determinedly. “No,” he repeated, then closed his eyes as he tried to form more words. His hand released the younger officer’s and gestured feebly.

“Okay,” Zechs agreed, tossing the towel across to his own bed. “Think you can tell me how you’re feeling?” he asked.

The reply was an eloquent shrug accompanied by a look that demanded, ‘How do you think?’ complete with suitable profanity as clearly as if Treize had shouted it. It made Zechs laugh aloud, earning himself another, slightly adjusted glare for his trouble.

“All right, stupid question,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. Anything in particular bothering you?”

Treize made another ineffectual gesture, scowled at it, and then closed his eyes again, frowning in concentration. He was having to dig deep for something, his mouth opening and closing again silently more than once, but whether it was the concept he couldn’t grasp, the words to describe the concept or merely how to form them, Zechs wasn’t sure.

“My head… hurts…”

“Really?” Zechs asked in reply, frowning himself. He got to his knees to lean over his friend and reached out to check for swelling. “Where? I could have sworn I caught you in time to keep you from banging it.”

Treize pulled away clumsily. “Not…” He gestured unsteadily at his temples. “It hurts,” he repeated. “It… always…”

“Ah!” Zechs smiled as he worked it out. “You get headaches as part of the after-effects. Right. Do you have anything you can take for it? Or do you want me to go and find that aspirin after all? You did warn me you might need it by the end of the day!” he teased.

The sally won him what he thought was a weak chuckle. Treize gestured in the direction of his bag and Zechs had caught on to his method of communicating well enough to know what he meant without having to ask again.

The blond hopped off the bed with commendable energy and bent to drag the heavy duffel onto the surface of it by his commander’s side. “Give me some clue, then? Which pocket, or am I going to have to root through your grubby socks?”

“…Brat…”

The younger man chuckled. “I used to be,” he admitted. “Well?”

Treize somehow managed to roll his eyes, then shoved Zechs’s hands out of the way to paw at the bag himself. The zippers on the pockets gave him real trouble – his fine motor control was obviously badly affected – but he got them after a few minutes’ struggle and pulled a slim case from the front inside pocket.

It was a bigger version of the one he’d been carrying in his jacket pocket that morning. Zechs assumed it carried the full complement of whatever his commander needed with him, where as the portable version gave him a way to have a limited supply on him at all times.

An imperious finger tapping on the polished leather suggested to Zechs that Treize wanted him to undo the case, and he slid open the catch to reveal a bewildering array of papers and bottles.

“Bloody hell, you have half a pharmacy in here!” he laughed and got another shove, considerably harder, for his trouble. It almost tumbled him back off the bed and he grabbed at the older man for his balance. “That was mean!”

“…Yes. And…?”

“Oh, you’re fine. I’ll just stop worrying about you now.”

As he talked, Zechs let his fingers move slowly from one bottle to the next, watching the redhead closely for any indication that he’d found the right one. He got a shaky nod about halfway through the collection and then another almost at the end and he pulled both bottles form the case obediently.

Releasing the tops of the bottles, the blond gave them back to his commander, carefully noting the dosage Treize took from each of them. The ease with which the older man downed the pills spoke both of long practice at taking meds, and of a real improvement in his ability to swallow since he’d awoken. Zechs hoped the rest of his recovery was just as swift.

Treize handed the bottles back and let Zechs square everything away again as he put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The pilot gave his roommate a few minutes, pleased when he saw some of the colour come back into his skin, leaving him looking far less drained. The fine tremor that had been gripping his body faded away as well and Zechs took that as his cue.

“Treize? You look like you’re falling asleep again. Do you want to try to get changed? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable.”

The way Treize opened his eyes suggested he’d been right on the edge of dozing off again. Zechs smiled apologetically, then let the expression become affectionate as the older man blinked drowsily. “Are you always this spacey?” he asked lightly.

Treize managed another shrug, nodding slowly. “Sorry…” he murmured.

The tone he said it in took the smile from the younger man’s face. “Don’t apologise,” he said firmly. He put a hand out to comfort, intending to rest it on his friend’s shoulder, and stopped when Treize flinched away.

Zechs watched as his lover closed his eyes and turned his head away, his body braced and his expression resigned. It took him a second to register that Treize was expecting Zechs to hit him, not comfort him.

The realisation made him feel sick. “Treize,” he breathed, reaching out again. “Jesus Christ…”

How many times must someone have laid into the older man to make his reaction one of expectation and resignation? How young must he have been when it started that he still, despite a decade’s training and combat experience, didn’t think to protect himself? What kind of monster would hit a child for an illness they had no control over, especially when they were as dazed and defenceless as Treize currently was?

“Treize,” Zechs said again. “I’m not…I’m not going to hurt you.”

He could barely say the words; the idea was laughable. Treize was his senior officer, five years older and fully grown. Even if Zechs could have broken all the discipline he’d lived under for the past four years and lashed out at his commander, Treize would have beaten the unholy hell out of him for the insult. Zechs was fast and well-trained, but Treize was almost as fast, just as well trained and was taller and heavier besides.

Except that, as Treize just shook his head wordlessly, there was nothing funny about the suggestion. Someone had hurt the commander, repeatedly and viciously, and Zechs had horrid certainty that he knew exactly who.

“ _Perverted, damaged, pathetic little bastard!_ _His poor mother would be horrified if she knew what she’d given her life for.”_

The words rang in Zechs’s ears, turning him cold to the core. He’d known Benoît Khushrenada hated his son for being gay, but now the rest of the Duke’s rant, of Treize’s explanation made sense.

And no wonder both Treize and Dermail had been playing their cards so close to their chests about the subject. Zechs caught his breath as he realised he was literally holding his commander’s career in his hands. That kind of reaction alone was enough to get Treize discharged on psychological grounds, and if – as Zechs now knew it must be – this seizure had been merely one in a lifetime’s series of them, then there was no way Treize should ever have been admitted to Victoria Academy at all. An attack like today’s under combat conditions would be a disaster, not only for himself, but for everyone under Treize’s command.

Zechs was honour-bound to report it. It was his own career on the line if he didn’t, but…

“Treize, I swear I’m not going to hit you,” he whispered. “Please. You’ve trusted me this much.” Casting about for something to show he was serious, not sure how much more of Treize’s frightened cowering he could take, Zechs slid off the bed again and went to fetch the folded pile of Treize’s nightwear from the dressing table.

He brought it back and held it out like a peace offering. “Come on, Tre. I’ll give you a hand and then you can go back to sleep.”

The blond had thought he was past being shocked for the day but he jumped nevertheless when Treize’s eyes snapped open and the older man pushed himself upright.

There was a moment where they simply looked at each other, and then Treize leaned forward and put out a hand cautiously. “…Tre?” he repeated, making a question of the sound.

Zechs froze, realising the slip he had made instantly.

He tried to shrug it off. “Sorry,” he laughed. “You don’t like that, then? I give all of my friend’s nicknames, unfortunately. That one’s kind of obvious with your name.”

Treize shook his head determinedly. “You didn’t…. What is your name?”

Zechs scrunched the fabric he was holding involuntarily, hoping the older man wasn’t seeing the reaction. He knew exactly what it was that Treize was trying to say, ‘You didn’t come up with calling me Tre. Who are you, really? What’s your real name?’ but long habit made the blond deny it reflexively. He still wasn’t sure what his best course of action was going to be but he was sure that with Treize in his current state was not the best time to be trying to discuss a topic that really couldn’t be.

“You don’t know my name?” Zechs asked, just a little too slowly, forcing himself to sound worried. “Are you sure you didn’t bang your head?” he demanded, putting the folded nightclothes down to reach towards his roommate again. “I’m Zechs,” he said. “Zechs Marquise.”

Treize pulled away from the offered touch, threatening to overwhelm his rather precarious balance. “No,” he insisted. “No… not Zechs. You are…” He scowled, digging the fingers of one hand into the sheets as he fought to give voice to his thoughts. “Who…? Really…?”

How much did Treize remember from the corridor? How much would he remember in the morning? Had Zechs already given himself away earlier and the current questioning was Treize trying to clarify in his own head, or did the older man only have the suspicions of Zechs’s verbal slip and a coincidental name?

Would it be safer for Zechs to admit to everything and try for damage control later? Or should he do what he’d spent the past eight years doing and deny everything, call the older man mad for his suspicions and hope it didn’t ruin whatever hope there was for civil relationship between them. Whatever else, Zechs was hoping to keep Treize as something of a friend. Now that he’d remembered the commander’s place in his life, he found that he didn’t want to give it up again.

It would be nice to have someone to recall his family with – but was it safe?

Slowly, Zechs looked into the sapphire eyes pinning him in place, and shook his head sadly. There was too much at stake, too much disorientation still in the older man’s gaze. “Sir, please,” Zechs said softly. “I’m Zechs – nobody else. And I think I need to call a doctor for you,” he added. “Would you lie down for me?” he asked, bending over as though to help. “I think you might have concussion and I don’t…”

“Oh, va te faire foutre!” Treize spat suddenly, his tone scornful and his eyes flashing.

“I beg your pardon?” Zechs asked, letting his voice show his shock. Not only was the phrase utterly clear, as nothing else Treize had said since waking had been, but it was also unspeakably rude.

The pilot drew a deep breath, rather taken aback. “I didn’t quite catch that,” he said, trying to be diplomatic. Obviously, his little bit of playacting wasn’t being appreciated and, much as he would have been justified under the Specials duelling code in calling Treize out for his comment, Zechs was very well aware that the older man had not had a good day and that the topic of conversation would have been fraught even under perfect circumstances.

“Look, let me help you get changed,” Zechs offered curtly, “and then we can sit and talk all you like. I have to say, though, that I don’t think you’ll gain anything from getting angry with me. Perhaps you could…”

A hectic flush had risen in Treize’s face, washing the last of the pallor away. “"J'en ai rien à foutre de ce que tu penses!” he hissed. “Dis-moi ton nom!”

It was crystal clear that Treize wasn’t going to let it go just because Zechs threw a few distractions his way. It left the blond only one real way to fight back and the insults made that very easy to accomplish, sparking Zechs’s own temper in answer to them.

Drawing on what French he knew, Zechs let his posture stiffen. “Occupe-toi de tes putain de propres affaires!” he spat hotly.

Treize recoiled immediately, losing all of his sudden burst of anger as quickly as it had come on under his body’s learned response to such a tone. His head dropped, body sagging, and Zechs felt instantly guilty.

“For future reference,” the blond sighed noisily, his voice still sharper than he would have wished it to be, “I do understand French, and I don’t appreciate being spoken to that way anymore than you would.”

Treize nodded weakly, “…Sorry…”

The submissiveness was nauseating. “Forget it,” Zechs dismissed shortly. “Come on.”

Without giving the older man a choice, the pilot caught Treize’s arm and pulled until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Can you stand?” the blond asked, and got a shaky nod in response.

It took time, and not a little effort on the parts of both men, but eventually Zechs reached to settle Treize back into bed. Between the two of them, they’d managed to strip the commander out of the remains of his uniform and get him into his nightwear.

Zechs had even managed to keep from having a nervous breakdown when Treize had insisted that he needed the bathroom, alone.

Waiting until Treize had settled himself against the fluffed up pillows again, Zechs perched himself on the edge of the bed and handed the older man his water bottle back. “Better?” he asked. The time it had taken to organise the commander had been passed without either of them saying a word and it had done a lot to calm bubbling tempers.

“…Yes…” Treize replied, and the strain was back in his voice.

Zechs bit his lip in sympathy. “You don’t have to force the English, you know,” he offered. “My French isn’t perfect but I’ll understand you well enough. I got the impression it’s easier for you.”

The commander shook his head. “That was… temper…” he explained. “Talking…takes awhile…”

Zechs winced, then quickly hid the expression. No-one liked being pitied.

Treize’s eyes still fixed intently on his face, Zechs fussed with the sheets and blankets for a few moments, smoothing the cool fabric down and pulling it up so that the older man was covered to his waist.

Treize didn’t resist the gesture but there was something about how he was sitting that suggested he was only accepting it because he was too busy thinking about other things to worry about it. The sapphire gaze was sharpening all the time; it made Zechs nervous. “Are you hungry at all?” he asked, uneasily, rubbing one hand against the other betrayingly. “My culinary skills are about up to toast if you are.”

“Only…toast?” Treize asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“Pretty much,” the blond admitted ruefully. “But very good toast, so I’ve been told!”

It made his friend laugh softly for a moment, his eyes warm as he looked at the pilot.

“So, toast!” Zechs confirmed, thinking hurriedly. Making the toast would take a while and then Treize wouldn’t be able to talk whilst he was eating it. If Zechs could stretch out that and the clear up long enough, there was every chance that the older man would fall back asleep from pure tiredness – improvements in his state or not, he was clearly still exhausted by his illness.

It wouldn’t stop the conversation forever but it would allow Zechs to pick his place and time and get a better grasp on what he wanted to share than he had at the moment.

He made to step away from the bed and was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“…Please…” Treize asked haltingly. “Please… who are you…?”

His voice was desperate, pleading – the answer obviously mattered a very great deal to him – and it was only that begging tone that kept Zechs from reacting with protective anger again. He wasn’t ready to discuss this. “Treize,” he started slowly. “Treize, I don’t… I want you to think about that question very carefully. Are you sure you should be asking it?”

Treize blinked, confused, and Zechs bit his lip again. “Think!” he commanded. “Think what the answer could mean, for both of us. It’s safer not to ask.”

There was a determined headshake in reply. “I… have to know…!” Treize managed. “Please! Who…?”

“Jesus Christ!” Zechs hissed. “I know you’re not at your best but take the bloody hint and let it go!”

Treize’s midnight eyes were dark with some unnamed emotion. Zechs could see the shock, the lingering dazedness but also something else, something so desperate it was almost feral. “Please…” Treize begged again. “Just… your name. You don’t… understand!”

“My name is Zechs Marquise,” Zechs replied quietly, then shook his head as the other pilot made some move to protest again. “For Christ’s sake, Treize. Think about who you are!”

Frustration sharpened Zechs’s voice as he glared at the redhead. “You’re an Alliance commander, Treize! Honour-bound to report to both Alliance HQ and to the UESA council! If – _if_ – I am who you seem to believe I am, do you know what that means? Do you know what you want from me?” Zechs gestured frantically. “Asking me to confirm my identity to you is asking me to hang myself!”

Sapphire eyes went wide as understanding hit. “No!” Treize exclaimed, horrified. “I’d never…I wouldn’t…!”

“I have only your word for that!” Zechs fired back. “The word of a man I barely know and who might have gotten me shot once today already! Is it enough to rest the future of a nation on?” he demanded.

Treize pulled his body back to a more upright position. “Shot…?” he asked, alarmed. “How?!”

Zechs sighed. “When you were… out of it… in the corridor. If your Uncle had been a few seconds sooner, and he’d heard, I’d have been facing an investigative committee, at the very least.”

“…God…”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.” Zechs rubbed a hand across his eyes, then made a decision, and sank down to sit on the bed at his friend’s side again. “Do you see what you want now?” he asked. “Could the person you think I am risk everything on your word? Or would he have to think of his Crown first? The future of his country? Is your word good enough?”

Treize looked down at the sheets for a moment, then glanced back up determinedly. “Zechs thought so,” he murmured.

The pilot flinched.

“Zechs thought so,” Treize repeated. “He and I… he asked me to… promise…”

Zechs glanced away for a moment as he acknowledged that Treize had just upped the stakes. Clearly, the older man didn’t believe for one second that Zechs was only Zechs.

The blond met the searching gaze of his lover solidly, nodding. “Did he? Julian is dead, Tre. It isn’t his Crown anymore and it isn’t his decision.” He slipped his hand forward and took Treize’s fingers in his. “Do you understand what you’ve asked of me now?” he asked gently, and held his breath.

Treize stared for a fraction of a second, then closed his eyes as understanding dawned. “Your… name…?” he pleaded, not looking up.

Zechs steeled himself. He had no idea why it mattered so much to Treize, but it did. “I… Milliardo Lysander Peacecraft…” he answered, voice a whisper. “Prince… Crown Prince of Sanc.” He closed his own eyes for a moment and when he opened them, Treize was looking back at him, smiling sadly, his eyes glistening.

“Milliardo Lysander Peacecraft,” he repeated softly. “Miri.” His hand suddenly returned the grip Zechs had on him. “I’m sorry…” he breathed. “So sorry…”

“For what?” Zechs asked.

“I… promised your brother… promised Zechs that I’d look after you…” Treize shook his head. “I wasn’t there… I should have kept you safe, and I wasn’t there… Not for you, or for… him…”

Zechs felt something in him twist. Treize’s voice was harsh with pain, his expression wrenching. The look in his eyes alone gave Zechs answers to questions he’d never thought to ask, but then, it seemed to be a night for learning new information, and the blond had never thought to see his commander cry, either.

“Treize,” he tried weakly.

Treize shook his head again. “I promised him… and I didn’t even recognise you,” Treize said. “I should have. I should have. I’m so sorry…” He closed his eyes and the moisture in them spilled.

That, at least, was something Zechs could soothe away. “Tre, you did,” he whispered. “You called me Julian.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Va te faire foutrer” - A particularly offensive French idiomatic equivalent to "Fuck off!”  
> "J'en ai rien à foutre de ce que tu penses! Dis-moi ton nom!"” - I don't give a fuck what you think! Tell me your name!  
> “Occupe-toi de tes putain de propres affaires!” - Mind your own fucking business!


End file.
